Nothing
by x-LaissezLesBonTempsRouler-x
Summary: Lydia Martin's life is crashing down around her, her parents are divorcing over the state of her virginity, her best-friend is ignoring her because of a new boyfriend. She feels like nothing. She feels like nobody loves her, nobody cares she exists. But she is loved, even if she doesn't know it yet. Sequel is in progress, it's called Forget.
1. Chapter 1

I'm sipping an iced caramel mocha at Starbucks, waiting for my best friend, Allison Argent, to show up so we could catch up. Her family had gone camping and she'd just returned the night prior. I'm excited to tell her about the renovations I made to my bedroom, and how I recently discovered I like rock music. I have no intention in telling her about my parent's argument topics. Shoot, I haven't even told her about how my family is falling apart, because of me. I am their argument topics, every last one of their fights are about me.

A good-looking guy walks in the small café, and I pout my lips sexily, looking up at him through my thick lashes. I wear a coy half-smile and widened my eyes in an attempt to catch his attention. His blue eyes catch mine and my smile widens. He seems to be debating on whether to come over and talk to me or get into the small line to get his coffee.

"Hi," he says walking over and taking the seat that Allison should be seated at.

"Hello," I purr, glancing down for a split second to make sure my breasts are perfect in the low cut blouse I'm wearing. Seeing that they are I wrap both of my hands around my chilled drink, and wait for his response.

"I'm Ian," he responds a little wary. What's the problem? Am I not pretty enough for him? Can he see that really I'm scared? That I have no confidence at all?

"Lydia Martin," I say proudly. But in all actuality it hurts me more to say the name, after hearing it in so many of my parent's arguments. I make sure my dimples are showing, and then glance to the side to notice Allison just walking in the café, a grim look on her face until she spots me. She gives me a small smile and starts heading over.

"Ian, this is my best friend Allison," I say removing my hand from my cup to motion towards Allison, my smile even wider. Finally, I haven't seen her since Monday, it being Saturday now.

"You're in my seat," Allison says to Ian, walking up. As usual she's wearing a leather jacket, a stupid thing to do on a hot September day. It's at least ninety out and she'll get heat stroke if she stays outside for too long. Why does she always wear it? Even on her dates with her stupid boyfriend Scott.

"Allison!" I exclaim, "Don't be rude! Grab a chair from the table next to us and pull it over, we can all enjoy our coffees together!" How dare she shoo away a hot guy? She ignores me and glares at Ian, who keeps glancing from Allison to me. Probably trying to decide how we're friends, with her being a bitch right now, and me being so nice. Isn't she happy I had the will power to even pull up confidence I don't even have to get the guy come over here? Never mind, she doesn't know my self-confidence is fake, because she's been to busy ignoring me while my life crumbles down around me.

"It's fine, I'll see you later Lydia... Allison..." he says getting up, holding the chair out for Allison. What a jerk. Not for holding her chair out, but for leaving, and a blow to my already non-existent self-confidence.

"Whatever," I say pouting for a second before turning to Allison with narrowed eyes.

"He was taking up my time, I have to meet Scott soon, so can we make this quick?" she says messing with her hands, like always when she wants to get out of something. She looks a little worried. I wonder what's so important about her stupid boyfriend that can't wait for me, her best friend. I haven't seen her in a few days, nor have I talked to her. Apparently they didn't get service where they went. Why can't it just be us two, so I can tell her about my horrible life? So I have somebody to lean on? But no, her boyfriend is more important than me obviously.

"Whatever, because your boyfriend is obviously more important than I am," I say crossing my arms careful not to touch my silk blouse with my wet hands. I should've dried my cup off before holding it. Does she miss me like I missed her? Or does all she care about is Scott McCall, her stupid boyfriend?

Her eyes quickly glance down at my cleavage, before she rolls her eyes with a humoured look on her face, and mutters a wow. "What's with the hooker's shirt?" She asks motioning towards my lovely cleavage. Is she jealous because hers aren't as nice as mine? Not that you can tell with that leather jacket of hers, and the ugly grey shirt that practically goes to her neck underneath it. Another reason she's going to have a heat stroke. And it's wool. Who the fuck wears a wool shirt and leather jacket when it's ninety degrees outside? First off, who the fuck wears a wool shirt in the first place?

"First off, you're changing the subject; secondly, it's not a hooker's shirt! And third, it's a blouse not a shirt!" I say, my lips in a hard line, eyes narrowed. Is she calling me a hooker? If so, that hurts. She'd be happy to know I've only actually slept with anybody one time. And it was with my ex-boyfriend, Jackson, who I'd been dating for almost a year before we broke up. Well, he broke up with me. What made it all bad was the fact he broke up with me a mere two weeks after we had sex. He threw away any confidence I had when he broke up with me. Now I have to act, act like I'm happy. Act like I'm stupid, that I don't hear, act like I'm confident, and can face the world. It's all an act because inside I feel nothing. No happiness, no confidence, nothing, absolutely nothing but pain. The only thing I have is pain, and a wall that's cracking, cracking with each word Allison says, with each action she does.

She raises a brow and sighs. She opens her mouth like she's about to say something but closes it, still deciding on what to say. She was about to say whatever, but she didn't because she hates the word, certainly when I say it, which is all the time. "Aright Lydia it's a blouse," she finally says, and then sighs again, seeming a little distracted. She pulls out her cell phone, and looks down at it while biting her lip. How rude... she can't even say I'm glad to see you? Or I missed you while I was gone? I hold back tears at this and she doesn't look up even after a minute of silence. I can feel my bottom lip start to poke out, and I know I'll be crying in a few minutes, maybe even less.

"I missed you! It was horrible how your parents dragged you away for a few days to freeze your ass off in a tent! Now that you're back you need to stay the night at my house! Maybe we can drive down to San Francisco, just us two, and..." I trail off when she puts her phone to her ear. I hear it ring a few times before the answering machine picks up. Was she even listening? Why would she call somebody while I'm talking to her? I blink a few times hoping I don't cry. Please don't cry. The tears just keep bubbling up but I hold them back. My lip pokes out even more and my face starts to crumple up.

"Hi, Scott… its important, please call me back," she says after Scott's recorded voice says to leave a message and the sort. She hangs up and sets her phone down on the table facing her, screen still on. She glances up at me and it's like she just realised I'm here, "Oh Lydia! Sorry but I think I'm going to have to leave..." she trails off, then her phone rings. She instantly accepts the call and puts it to her ear. Did she even see that I'm about to cry? Did she see the hurt look on my face, the pain?

"Oh... I'll see you later I guess..." I trail off not even bothering to grab my mocha as I walk to the door, shoulders hunches, heels being dragged across the floor.

A woman in her forties that was sitting at the table next to the door stands up just as I walk by and I accidentally bump into her. I can practically count the seconds until I start to cry, and I only have about a minute, probably less.

"Sorry miss, should've looked up befo-" she cuts off seeing my face. "Are you okay?" she asks instead. I stare at her, stare through her, and keep blinking, trying my hardest to hold off tears that are going to come anyways. "Bad break-up?" she asks. Who the fuck looks this bad after a break-up? My parents might as well have died with the look on my face. This is more than a petty boyfriend. This is my parents, my best-friend, and the ones that I love!

"Nothing," I whisper. That's what I am to them now, nothing, they don't care about me! If my parents loved me they wouldn't yell such hurtful things about me at night. If Allison loved me she wouldn't ignore me when I need her the most. And it's not even like I didn't try and tell her about my parent's arguments! I do, all the time, but she's never paying attention.

"Oh well, feel better I guess," the woman says patting my shoulder, and then walks to the bathroom.

I proceed out the door and the heat of the day hits me, making my body feel heavy. I head to my car and unlock it slowly, hands to shaky to get it right the first time.

I slide into the driver's seat and sigh. I slump against the seat as the tears are unable to be held back any longer. It hurts to think of the way Allison was acting towards me. I haven't seen her since last week and she's more worried about her boyfriend. Ever since she's been dating him, she has been a little distant.

It's not even just Allison who's been ignoring me, my parents too. They seem distant, and it's always so tense. Even to each other they're tense.

It's not that I don't know what's going on with my parents though, divorce. With Allison I don't have a clue and have no way to figure out her odd behaviour. My parents were easy to figure out, certainly with the arguing every single night, arguing over me. I think my heart skipped a few beats when Mom threw out the word divorce one night. I cry after each argument.

My parents can't get divorced! My parents were in love! They were happy, Dad was a successful businessman, and Mom was also a successful businesswoman. They have a wonderful house, had a happy child, a happy marriage! What's the problem? What else do they need?

Dad says I'm vain, egotistical, self-centred, and snobby. He says it's Mom's fault, because she allows me to shop how I please. Mom yells back at him saying it's his fault I'm this way, or that way. Are they really blaming each other for my personality? Are they that sickened by the thought of me that they have to get a divorce?

Do they even love me? Dad calls me a whore. He even went as far as saying that I could never get raped, because I'm too willing. That hurt a lot. Why would he say such a thing when there's even the possibility I can hear? Why would he say such a thing period? I'm his daughter! Why would he say something like that about his own flesh and blood?

The next morning they try and act normal, telling me they love me, kissing me, and hugging me. But always the strange looks when they think I'm not looking. Things have changed since they've started arguing, no more family trips, no more spending time together just being a happy family. How do they even look at me and say they love me after saying such hurtful things?

There is always a fight about money, 'Lydia spends up all my hard-earned cash on sluttish clothing that's just going to get her in trouble and we'll have to pay even more money.' I think they meant I'll get pregnant or get an STD. I cried even more. I don't even have sex with guys! That's what makes this so much worst, that they just assume. Assume every time I leave the house I'm off having sex with a random guy. That's what hurts, that they just assume.

They think I'm stupid, that I don't have ears. They think I'm just a retarded bimbo whore. I don't even believe they love me. Why would they, if I'm just a whore to them. They don't even take the time to even talk to me; they never have the 'talk' with me anymore. They just assume that I sleep around and telling me not to will be no use. If only they asked me, it could be simple as 'Hey Lydia, are you a virgin?' That's it! I'd reply 'No, but I only had sex once, with Jackson.' Then they could stop calling me a whore and slut, and stop arguing. They could be happy and stay together. We could go on weekend trips like we used too.

Every night I cry now. The arguments get worse; their insults to me get worst. It would almost be like they were reading a magazine and laughing at how this bimbo is a slut and how she's going to get herself a STD, only they don't laugh, it's not just a random bimbo, and they yell at each other blaming one another for my personality, my behaviour. Is it really the state of my virginity that's tearing this family apart?

Now I'm crying, quite hard actually. I can hardly see the road with my blurred vision so I pull over. The tears never end as I sit in the middle of the free-way. Maybe a car will crash into me and I'll die. Nobody will care, not my parents, not Allison. The only people I love and care about. My parents might even be overjoyed and stop arguing. They'd be happy all their money wasn't being spent on my sluttish clothing. They'd be happy they wouldn't have to walk on egg-shells around me. They might even stay together and be happy again. Allison wouldn't have to worry about me and can focus on just her stupid boyfriend. I'm nothing to them, nothing at all.

Haven't they all realised I'm just a façade, that my words and actions are just a mask, a mask to the real me? I'm just a scared, non-confident, sixteen year old girl. A girl whose parents think she's a whore, and whose best friend values her boyfriend over her best friend.

Maybe I'm just over-reacting. Maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion and over-thinking it. It's highly doubtful though, with the clear words of my parents after they think I've sneaked out or fell asleep. My mom's shrill voice yelling things like 'It's your fault Lydia is such a whore! If you paid more attention to her maybe she wouldn't feel like she needs to run off and sleep around!' or my fathers booming voice yelling something like 'Well if you didn't allow her to spend money on sluttish clothing, then maybe she wouldn't be out gallivanting, giving her body out to any and every guy she comes across!'.

I try to ignore their yelling voices but sleep never comes, not until they finish their arguments, until after I hear my father snoring, after I've the fatigue of crying over-comes me and I fall asleep with tears streaking down my face.

Nothing, that's what I am to them, Just extra money they spend, extra worrying, and extra energy.


	2. Chapter 2

"Lydia?" I hear a familiar voice say. I turn my head slowly towards my open window, and blink a few times letting my eyes focus through the tears on the person standing in the middle of a busy free-way.

"...Lydia..." the person my eyes are still trying to focus on, says something. My brain struggles to remember what they just said, and in defeat, my head falls onto the steering wheel with a smack. A strangled cry coming from my lips as the honker blares, my cheek pressed to the hot plastic.

"Lydia..."All I hear is Greek as I stare, eyes still not focused, unable to through the tears steadily dripping off my face, and trailing down my cheeks. Another sob racks through my body and the person opens the door.

They pull me out of the car, and as I go limp in their arms, they struggle to open the back-door and put me in. Laying in the back-seat more sobs escape my mouth as I try my hardest to stop crying.

The car lurches forward and I know there is no escape from the crying fit I've fallen into. The more I try and stop the worse the sobs get, so I just relax as much as possible and lets the tears cascade down my face, a cry escaping my lips every few minutes.

If only my parents would stop arguing, if only they stopped thinking I was a whore, if only my best friend would pay me a little attention. If only I wasn't nothing to the ones I truly love. Not the fleeting love I had for Jackson, not my petty love for shopping. But my true love for my parents, my true love for my best friend. Does my best friend even love me? Did she ever? Do I disgust her too? Does my looks, my clothing choices, my behaviour disgust her so much, that she doesn't even want to be friends anymore? After being best friends for our entire lives, how can she start ignoring me because of one stupid boyfriend that she's been dating for only a few months?

"Nothing," I whisper, "Nothing."

I'm nothing; nothing would happen if I didn't exist, nothing is happening because I do exist. Nothing but heart-ache. Nothing but being in the way. I'm nothing.

"Lydia...?"The person says at hearing my words. I'm nothing, nothing at all. I shouldn't be alive; my parents should've never had me. I'm nothing. I'm just an annoyance to the people's lives around me. I'm just ruining my parent's marriage, ruining their lives. Ruining Allison's by being in the way of her boyfriend.

I have nobody. Nobody loves me, nobody will ever love me. I'm a stupid whore. I'm nothing but a stupid whore. A dirty stupid whore. One that gets in the way and creates financial issues. One that splits a marriage up with her presence. Nothing but a dirty stupid whore. A shallow, pompous, conceited, ego-maniacal bitch.

Nobody loves me, nobody ever will. Nobody loves a vain, egotistical whore. Nobody loves a shallow bitch. I'm nothing but a dirty, stupid whore. An ego-maniacal, conceited, pompous bitch. I'm nothing to my loved ones. Nothing to anybody. Nothing, I'm nothing. Just a fly to the people I truly love and cherish.

"Nothing! Nothing! Nothing!" I cry banging my fists on the seat. I hate myself for being the way I am. If only, I wasn't me. If only I was the way my parents want me to be. If only, if only, if only. If only I wasn't nothing. If only somebody loved me, if only.

Why can't my parents love me? Why can't my parents be happy together, happy to have me. If only my parents didn't regret having me. Giving birth to a whore. My mom said it herself, if only she hadn't given birth to a whore. Said, if only she didn't get married and want a child. If only she waited just a little longer and had a different baby, with a different man, with different genes, so she couldn't of had me.

"Lydia..." the person says. I don't hear it, only my screaming thoughts. 'Nothing!' My thoughts yell. 'I'm nothing but a dirty conceited whore whose own parents don't want her!' I hear my parents yelling, 'She's just a whore.'

The heat of the sun hits me as the back-door opens up and the person pulls me out of the car. They carry my limp body up the drive and up the porch steps before they ring the doorbell.

"Hello? Lydia's not here – oh my god!" I hear Mom start with an annoyed voice, then shriek the end, "John! Get over here!" she yells. I'm just a dirty, stupid whore! An ego-maniacal, pompous, conceited bitch! I'm nothing!

"What is it?" I hear Dad ask in a bored tone. "Oh my, we can take care of her from here young man," he says in a strained voice. He picks me up bridal style.

"This is your fault isn't it?" Mom says stabbing her thin finger at the other person. Now that my crying has slowed down to just tears I can see that the person is Stiles. Allison's stupid boyfriend's best friend. I wonder if Scott is ignoring Stiles like Allison ignores me. Or do guys put their best friends first like it's supposed to go? I remember Jackson spending equal amounts of time with his friends and me. He would never ditch his friends because of me. That's what Allison should do. Be the perfect best-friend and still have a happy relationship. Not focus on just her boyfriend and ignore me. When I dated Jackson I never ignored her. I hung out with her every chance I got. When I wasn't with Jackson I was with her, if I wasn't with her I was with Jackson.

"No! I just found her pulled over in the middle of the free-way!" Stiles exclaims putting his hands up in surrender.

"Thank you for taking her straight home," Dad says, his deep voice booming. Probably trying to intimidate him like he does with every guy I go on a date with.

"You're welcome, tell her I hope she feels better," he says, voice dripping with sympathy. At least somebody cares about me! Even if it is just Stiles.

Stiles leaves as I lay limp in Dad's arms, tears still streaming down my face but no longer outright crying. The exhaustion from crying is laying heavy on my brain, on my body. My throat feels raw and painful, my neck itself fatigued. My eyes feel puffy and red, but I don't have the energy to care. I hurt everywhere, my heart, my head feels like it's splitting, my emotions are at an all time low.

The wall I had built cracked and crumbled until it was gone after Allison blew me off at Starbucks. It seems like it was eons ago since Allison and I have gotten together to just hang out, no distractions. With every argument my parents had built the wall higher and thicker. Then with just five minutes with Allison her actions broke it down like it was just a pile of feathers. My memories of the arguments and my parent's words turned it to mere ashes.

Now with no wall to protect me, I have no way to survive. No way to get through the arguments, the being ignored, the divorce. I have no way to go to school without staring at the ground while walking down the halls. No way to pay attention in class and get the highest marks. No way to not cry. Without my wall, I really will be nothing. Just a shred of a person. Here in physical form, gone mentally.

I died in the car, in the middle of the free-way. Now I'm merely watching, unable to escape the confines of my body to float free to a better place. I'm watching now as my parents stand facing each other with shocked looks on their faces. It's only moments before the biggest argument they've ever had ensues and this time I'll be right here to hear it. This time one of them will storm out and leave for good. Leaving the carcass of me to be handled by the one still staying.

I might die even more if that happens, I'll be even less of a shred of a person. I'll be even more nothing. Now if only my exhaustion will make me fall asleep so I can't see or hear anything. Maybe I'll wake up and this will all be just a dream. Just a horrible dream. I'll wake up and my parents won't think I'm a whore, they will truly love me, Allison will balance her time between both me and Scott. Deep down I know though, that this is real. So very real, and so very horrible.

Dad says nothing but carries me up to my room placing me on my bed, beneath my sheets. Mom stands in the doorway watching. Dad joins her, and then closes the door.

Minutes pass as I hold my breath, waiting for the argument to happen. Waiting for one of them to walk out and never come back. Waiting to become absolutely nothing. Waiting for the cloud of death hanging over me to consume me so I can finally be in peace. So I can be numb.

Minutes pass before I hear the shrill voice of Mom ringing through the house. Then the booming response of Dad. I don't hear it though; my mental and physical pain has clogged my ears. I have to lay through it though, my mind forcing me to stay up and hear but not hear. To know. Its seems like forever before the door to the garage slams shut, shaking the entire house. I hear the engine to Mom's car start and my entire body goes limp.

I want to cry but I can't. Mom can't leave! She can't go! This can't be real! Why? Don't leave me Mommy... Mommy don't go! I love you! I promise I'll be a good girl! I won't wear shirts that show my cleavage! I won't date guys! I won't spend all your money! Mommy! Why don't you love me anymore! I promise I'll be a good girl! I promise! Don't leave Dad! You love him! He loves you! Don't sign those papers I know you have tucked under your car's dash protector! Hidden so I wouldn't see! But I did Mommy! Don't sign them! Come back and love me! Mommy! Please! Please come back! Stay with me Mommy!

Mommy! I love you! Please stay! I don't want you to go Mommy! Please come back! You're breaking my fragile heart with every meter your car gets further and further away. You can't leave me Mommy! I'll die! I promise to be good if you take me with you! I'll tell you the truth! That I'm not a whore! I'm not, I'm not, and I'm not! I'm a good girl! Why can't you see? I need you? I want you back! I love you!

Mommy! Come back and hold me! Kiss me goodnight! Tell me you love me! Tuck me in and sing me to sleep! Tell me a story like you did when I was little! Love me. Love me like you did before. Kiss me and tell me it will be okay. Mommy don't leave me alone in the world! I need you, I love you! Please come back! Come back and kiss me, tell me you love me like you did before. Come back and hold me! I love you I do! Just come back! I miss you already, I wish you'd come back...

Dad opens my door and stands staring at me. "Your mother's gone..." he doesn't bother to say forever, because I already know. I hate him! How could he let her leave? I didn't even get to say good bye. Now I'm never going to see her again! And it's his entire fault! If he just kept his fucking mouth shut and didn't argue with her she'd be here now!

What's next? Is Allison going to walk out on my life too? I've lost a love one and don't need to loose another. Allison is already slipping away, growing further and further away. Soon she won't talk to me anymore, she'll forget I exist. I'll just have my father. The father I know hate! For letting Mom walk out on him, walk out on me!

"..." he starts in on a lengthy speech about whatever but all I can hear is the drone of his voice, as he comes up with a lie as to why she's gone. All I can think about is that my mommy's gone. Gone forever, leaving me to be nothing. She took the last piece of me with her and now I'm nothing. Nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

**It was spring, and I was about three. You were chasing me around the forest, and I hid behind one of the big red woods and screamed when you popped out from behind me and tickled me to the forest floor. Tears of laughter stream down our faces.**

**It's Christmas and I was six. You and Dad were seated at the couch, all of us in pyjamas. I stood in front of the tree and was screaming my lungs out, attempting to sing with the new karaoke set you'd gotten me. At the end of the song, you got up and joined me for a song while Dad stayed seated at the couch watching us with a satisfied smile on his face. The song started and when you opened your mouth to sing I didn't, I stared up at you like you were an angel straight from heaven. Your voice was so heavenly, and when you noticed I wasn't singing you scooped me up and held the microphone to my mouth. We sang into the mic together and Dad clapped for us at the end.**

**I was ten and came home crying. Some girls had made fun of me for having green eyes and red hair. They said I was a leprechaun from Ireland and then laughed at me because I had breasts. They said that you pumped me so full of hormones that I was becoming a woman too early. You wrapped me up in your arms, and then grabbed the keys. You drove and drove until we reached the coast then you turned and kept driving. We talked and talked the entire time, and I fell asleep when it started getting dark. You woke me up and we were in a big city. The city was on a big mountain and all the streets were sloped. We stayed the night at a motel 6 sleeping in the same bed, and then the next day you showed me around the city, San Francisco. I'd never been there before, and was a little scared of how many people there were, and then loved it, and still do.**

**I was twelve and was scared when I found blood in my panties. I'd started my period, and you were away on a business trip. I was too embarrassed to tell Dad, so I called you crying. You came home early and told me all I needed to know about my menstrual cycle. Then we lounged on the couch eating chocolate in our pyjamas and watched Tom and Jerry until we fell asleep together.**

**I was fourteen and my first boyfriend had broken up with me, devastated I ran right to you when I got home from school. We went to a diner an hour away and you talked and talked until I nearly forgot his name. On the way home we were both laughing the entire way.**

Now, the most broken I've ever been you're not here to make me feel better, because it was you who caused me this great pain, this great void in my heart.

I've lain limp in my bed for hours, until my need to use the rest room has forced me out of bed and into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for the longest time. Stared at the carbon copy of my mom. Will I walk out on my child? Will I be like Mom and be the best mom ever until they get older and then stop loving them?

Back in my room I sit at my vanity and stare at myself some more, hating the way I look so much like Mom. A constant reminder of what I'm missing. I stroke my image in the mirror changing the image of myself to be older, to be Mom. I smile at her and she smiles back. "Oh Mom!" I sigh, tearing my eyes from the mirror.

I grab my brush and struggle to pull it through my bed head hair. Giving up, I throw the brush down with a frustrated sigh, and pick up the comb. I tear it through my hair, until there's no more resistance, then pick up my brush and brush through it, over and over. I wonder what Mom is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Does she regret her decision? Does she want to come back? Does she look in the mirror and see me, like how I see her when I look in the mirror?

I sit on my bed, staring at my phone, waiting for a call that may never come. I reach for it and go to the call screen. My finger hovers over the two, her speed dial, one being my voice-mail. Sucking in a breath I tap the two and bring the phone to my ear. It rings and rings and finally her voice-mail picks up. I pull the phone away and press end.

Groaning I call her again, this time I'll leave a message. Her voice-mail picks up again and when her sweet voice tells me to leave a message I do, "Why?" I ask before choking up. I disconnect again aggravated with myself.

I call again, this time to leave a better message, "Mommy, why did you go?" I ask. I pause to figure out what to say next but only draw blanks. Even more irritated with myself, I end the call again.

I throw my phone down, and it bounces onto the floor. I lay back, not even bothering to pick the phone up. My phone blasts and when I look I almost cry out. Allison!

I pick up just in time, "Hello?" I ask, is she going to stop ignoring me and help me get over my sadness from losing my mom? Or is something wrong?

"Hello Lydia, this is Allison's mother," Mrs. Argent says, voice sounding extremely sad.

"What's wrong?" I ask immediately. Allison's mother would never call me, unless... unless Allison is hurt.

"Can you come to the hospital immediately? Allison, she asked for you," She says.

"What's wrong? What happened?" I ask frantically. I stand and grab my keys before running down the stairs.

"It's fatal," she cries into the phone, "She was bitten, we didn't think it mattered, it was just a squirrel. We didn't think it'd actually have it..."

Oh. Allison contracted rabies. I nearly drop my phone when realisation sinks in, "I'm on my way," I say in a dead tone, then hang up.

I speed through the streets, nearly running a man over, and crashing into a kid on a bike. I speed through four red lights, then finally pull into the hospital parking lot. I run into the main part crying, and not one person even blinks an eye at my frantic state.

"Is... Is Allison Argent here?" I ask in a highly unstable voice. I just can't believe it. The same day my mom leaves, Allison is dying? It's such a cruel joke. I just lost one loved one, and I'm about to lose another. I couldn't bear it if Allison died. I couldn't live another day, I couldn't!

"In room 365," the desk woman says after a minute of searching her name up, "Visiting hours end at eight, you've got two hours."

"Thanks," I breathe, then run to the elevators, almost tripping over my stupid heels.

In the elevator, I lean against the wall and cover my face with my hands. Tears soak my hands and face, then a person taps my shoulder. I remove my hands and they point to the open door. Nodding I walk as fast as possible down the white on white hall.

I fling open Allison's door and step in. The room is bright under the hospital lights, and before I even register anybody else in the room all I see is Allison laying on that hospital bed looking... feral. Shocked, I press myself against the wall.

"She asked for you... before she got worst," Mrs. Argent says laying a hand on my shoulder.

"Why... Why is she strapped to the bed?" I ask in a shaky voice.

"You'll see," is all she says before taking her place next to Mr. Argent.

I stare at her, as she lays limp in the bed. Before I even have a chance to register in my mind what's happening she starts convulsing on the bed, and more saliva comes from her mouth. She looks like she's in so much pain as she lets out a scream. A small scream escapes my mouth before I clamp a hand over my mouth. I can't watch this, I can't be in here.

I can't watch my best friend die in such a horrible way. As much as I love her, this is traumatizing.

Once she settles down her mom looks at me, "She'll understand," she says seeing the horrified look on my face.

"Lydia?" I hear her say as I reach for the door, "Is that you?"


	4. Chapter 4

I whip around and resist the urge to run over and hug her. "Yes," I say voice wobbling.

"You look funny," she laughs, and then her back lifts off the bed in a spasm. She holds back a scream as the spasm racks through her back. "I'm sorry for ignoring you," she bites out as the spasm ends, "I'm so sick. I can't move my legs Lydia!"

"I forgive you," I cry. Seeing her like this is traumatizing, she's literally foaming out the mouth as she talks, and I have to hold back a wave of severe nausea.

"My hand's all tingly," she slurs lifting her hand up but the restraint stop it from going only a few inches off the bed, a line of drool comes from her mouth and runs down her cheek. I want to look away so badly but at the same time, I can't look away. Her body thrashes on the bed again, and she starts screaming. It lasts for at least a few minutes, and then her body goes slack again.

"I'm scared Lydia," she mumbles. Just as her arms seem to convulse for a mere second then go lax next to her. She doesn't even notice, until she convulses again, this time for just a few seconds. "I can't feel my arm!" she screams.

I swallow back a sob, "How long is this going to last?" I ask nobody in particular.

"She was bitten about two weeks ago. We didn't really notice anything, and then when she came home today she had a seizure so we took her to the ER immediately," Mr. Argent says holding his crying wife.

"Lydia, don't leave me, I love you, don't forget that, I -" she cuts off mid-sentence as she convulses again, this time much worse than I've ever seen. She thrashes around on the bed, body moving in ways you never thought possible. The drool coming from her mouth increases and seems never ending. Once this horrible convulsing stops, she tries to swallow but her neck spasms and her hands reach for her throat but can't then they start to convulse.

"I love you too," I cry when she finally lays limp on the bed.

"Lydia?" she asks frantically.

"I'm here! I'm here!" I yell taking a step forward, then a step back when her legs start convulsing.

"Lydia? Are you angel?" she asks in a dreamy voice falling limp, "Don't lie to me Lydia, I see your wings. They're so pretty and big. They take up the whole room. Oh..." she trails off, "I'm so tired."

"No, I'm just me, you're best friend," I say. Oh god. She must be hallucinating.

"Silly girl," she chuckles and groans as her back spasms, "You are an angel, I see your wings. Can you fly me to heaven? I don't want to feel this pain anymore. It hurts. Please save me Lydia, Will you please?" she asks in a pleading voice. Her voice is so childlike compared to her usual tone, and she almost seems like an entire different person.

"I... I can't," I cry. Please don't do this Allison, please don't. Please don't die!

"Yes you can!" she yells in an angry voice, then laughs, "Oooh! You're a bad angel! You're not allowed in heaven! Then take me to hell with you, I want to be with you forever Lydia, even if I have to go to hell!"

I think I'm going to faint. This is all so sudden. Were there no signs? She was perfectly normal at Starbucks just this morning. Only eleven hours ago! What happened to it supposed to be lasting days before she... before she dies?

"Hurry up Lydia! Take me to hell or heaven, I want to go away! It hurts so badly!" she cries, or more like gurgles through the thick saliva coming from her mouth. Then she convulses again, screaming every few minutes.

Her heart monitor is going erratic when she convulses, then goes smooth when she stops. It goes so smooth that you would think she doesn't have the energy to even talk, let alone scream. It goes straighter and straighter with each convulsion, and I'm afraid her heart is going to go out any second now. I almost want her to keep convulsing so she can live longer.

"Lydia," she says voice quivering through the saliva, "I love you; tell my parents I love them also. My angel is here to take me away, it's a shame you couldn't take me, but I still love you anyways. I'll see you later Lydia," Her body convulses again, this time lasting almost ten minutes before her body collapses onto the bed and she seems to have passed out, yet her heart monitor shows she's still alive. Coma, she's fallen into a coma!

"What's wrong?" I ask frantically. A coma means... a coma means she's closer to death.

"Coma," a nurse I didn't notice says. She's heavy set, around forty, a frown permanently etched on her chubby face, life-less grey eyes, and wispy black hair. She looks like she would've been pretty about twenty years ago, but I guess watching people die repeatedly would definitely change you.

"How long?" Mr. Argent asks.

The nurse shrugs as if she doesn't care, "Depends. She only lasted a few hours with the severe effects of the rabies. Who knows how long it will take for her heart to go out," she pauses and points to the heart monitor with her stubby index finger. Her voice irritates me the way it seems to drone on, and it's so scruffy, "I'd say a few minutes the way her heart monitor is acting."

When it happens and her heart monitor goes flat and the horrible sound comes from the machine both Mrs. Argent and I hold back sobs. My heart practically rips in half.

I scream and run over, "Allison!" I yell wrapping my arms around her now dead body, "Allison! You can't be dead, you can't! No!"

"Ms. I'm going to have to ask you to step back, you could contract the disease..." the nurse places a firm hand on my shoulder, and pulls me back.

"No! Allison! Wake up Allison you can't be dead! I just lost my mom, I can't lose you too!" I scream gripping her closer.

"Do I need to call somebody to escort you out of the hospital?" the nurse asks more irritated, tugging on my shoulder a second time, harder.

"Lydia honey, can you please let her go, we wouldn't want to lose you also," Mrs. Argent says softly, placing a hand on my other shoulder, more gently than the nurse does.

Bowing my head, I let her go and step back. "You're going to need to take some medication so you don't contract the disease, then come in for a check-up in a few days Nurse Pat is going to take care of you," the nurse says to me then turns to Allison's mom, "Mrs. Argent, sorry for your loss. You and your husband will have to come with me to take care of some business."

Another nurse, a woman at least eighty years old, wraps her small-gloved hand around my forearm and has me follow her somewhere. My heels drag along the tiled floor, and my head feels too heavy to lift. Silent tears drip off my face, and I seem to be stuck in a cloud of darkness, no matter how bright the halls of the hospital are. I can faintly hear birds chirping outside the giant windows that span across the entire exterior of the hospital. Their happiness makes me want to kill them, while I'm stuck in my bubble of death. It hangs over me like a humid fog; it's all-consuming and blurs everything. Everything I look at is muted shades of grey; everything is moving sluggishly, and most of all it's wrapped around my heart. My chest is tight; my heart is beating so slow it's barely beating at all. I would do anything to have Allison back.

"We're here, dear," the nurse says in that sweet granny voice. I don't respond, and she continues, "Since you're a minor we can't give you this unless we have a parents consent..." she goes on and one about something I don't care about, and by the time she's finished, a puddle of tears has accumulated around my feet.

It seems like it was a few years since I left the Starbucks crying. And, in just one day, I've lost two of three loved ones. And the day is far from even being over. It was about seven am when I left the Starbucks, then around ten when I finally got home, Mom left shortly after, and then Mrs. Argent called me at around six. And it's still only seven pm. exactly twelve hours after this day just went straight to hell. Every hour of this day seems more like a month.

The nurse leads me to a chair, where I sit wallowing in despair until somebody else drags me out of the hospital and into a car. I assume its Dad because then after a few minutes of driving, we're home. Mentally I hurt too much even to think about Allison's death. Every time I even try to think about it, my heart clenches up and I want to scream. Dad drags me up the stairs and to my room before shutting the door and leaving me standing in my room crying.

The black cloud fills my room until everything turns black and I can no longer see. I feel a sharp pain in my heart, and scream before the room tilts, the floor meets my face, and I feel absolutely nothing. Just blackness and images of Allison's last hour flashing through my head.

"_Lydia, don't leave me, I love you, don't forget that, I - " she cuts off mid-sentence as she convulses again, this time much worse than I've ever seen. She thrashes around on the bed, body moving in ways you never thought possible. The drool coming from her mouth increases and seems never ending. Once this horrible convulsing stops, she tries to swallow but her neck spasms and her hands reach for her throat but can't then they start to convulse._

"_I love you too," I cry when she finally lays limp on the bed._

"_Lydia?" she asks frantically._

"_I'm here! I'm here!" I yell taking a step forward, then a step back when her legs start convulsing._

"_Lydia? Are you angel?" she asks in a dreamy voice falling limp, "Don't lie to me Lydia, I see your wings. They're so pretty and big. They take up the whole room. Oh..." she trails off, "I'm so tired."_

"_No, I'm just me, you're best friend," I say. Oh god. She must be hallucinating._

"_Silly girl," she chuckles and groans as her back spasms, "You are an angel, I see your wings. Can you fly me to heaven? I don't want to feel this pain anymore. It hurts. Please save me Lydia, Will you please?" she asks in a pleading voice._

"_I... I can't," I cry. Please don't do this Allison, please don't. Please don't die!_

"_Yes you can!" she yells in an angry voice, then laughs, "Oooh! You're a bad angel! You're not allowed in heaven! Then take me to hell with you, I want to be with you forever Lydia, even if I have to go to hell!"_

_I think I'm going to faint. This is all so sudden. Were there no signs? She was perfectly normal at Starbucks just this morning. Only eleven hours ago! What happened to it supposed to be lasting days before she... before she dies?_

"_Hurry up Lydia! Take me to hell or heaven, I want to go away! It hurts so badly!" she cries, or more like gurgles through the thick saliva coming from her mouth. Then she convulses again, screaming every few minutes._

_Her heart monitor is going erratic when she convulses, then goes smooth when she stops. It goes so smooth that you would think she doesn't have the energy to even talk, let alone scream. It goes straighter and straighter with each convulsion, and I'm afraid her heart is going to go out any second now. I almost want her to keep convulsing so she can live longer._

"_Lydia," she says voice quivering through the saliva, "I love you; tell my parents I love them also. My angel is here to take me away, it's a shame you couldn't take me, but I still love you anyways. I'll see you later my love." Her body convulses again, this time lasting almost ten minutes before her body collapses onto the bed and she seems to have passed out, yet her heart monitor shows she's still alive. Coma, she's fallen into a coma!_

_Then she opens her eyes and laughs at me. The nurse I never noticed takes off Allison's straps, she also laughing. Her parents laugh too, and I'm standing here confused. What's happening?_

"_Lydia, you were so fooled," Allison asks, wiping the saliva from her mouth with a dishcloth. Then she flings an arm over my shoulder._

"_What?" I ask, tears still streaming down my face._

"_It was a joke Lydia, it all was. Your mom leaving, those fights, me ignoring you. It all was elaborate joke your parents set up," she laughs, then both Mom and Dad walk through the door large smiles on their faces._

"_Mom?" I ask as fresh tears start falling._

"_Come here baby," Mom says opening her arms to me, voice sympathetic. I run into them, crying harder. All a joke? Meaning Mom is staying? Mom and Dad aren't getting divorced? Allison isn't actually dying?_

_Mom's embrace is the best feeling in the world. I can't believe she left me thinking this was all real. All so real. And just to come back expecting me to still love her without being broken. How could she break me like that? And why would Allison help? Why would she betray me and cast me into a dark world or depression?_

_I pull back from Mom disgusted. Shaking my head I run from the hospital room, I run and run and the hallway never ends. The hallway stops abruptly and my momentum propels me down. I'm falling from the highest building, the highest mountain, and then I plummet to the ground, dead._


	5. Chapter 5

I wake with a cold start, and the events of Allison's death come flowing back. Then my dream comes back and I curl in a ball at how my brain played such a cruel joke on me. Images of Allison on her deathbed flash through my mind, repeatedly, until I want to pull my hair out.

I glance at my alarm clock, six am Sunday morning. I should smell cinnamon rolls or waffles being made. Mom would be coming up in a few minutes to wake me up so we can get ready for church. Dad would be drinking a coffee at the breakfast table reading the paper, while Mom places a plate of food in front of him. They'd kiss and I'd be disgusted. We'd head to church and come back at noon. Then we'd eat lunch and I'd call Allison. She'd come over and I'd paint her nails while we'd lounge on my bed talking until dinner. We'd have dinner, she'd go home, and I'd go up to my room to plan my outfit for school the next day. I'd have already done my weekend homework Friday, so I'd study for an upcoming quiz or test. Mom would come in to find me on my bed passed out, and surrounded by schoolbooks. Mom would stack my books up on my desk, and pull the covers over me before kissing my forehead and turning out my light.

Instead, I wake up on my floor, wondering what's going to happen next. That is until Dad opens my door wearing his usual suit and tie, briefcase in hand. "Lydia, get ready," he says before turning and closing my door.

I don't even bother moving, it'd be too much of an effort for nothing. Usually as I'm getting ready for church I'd wonder what Allison is up to, whether she'd like the new outfit I bought or not, or if she'd let me paint her nails pink. Now, I'm wondering how fate could be as so cruel as to let Allison have such an unfair death. I'm wondering if she's a ghost down here on earth or an angel up in heaven. Perhaps a demon down in hell, probably not that though.

"Lydia! Up now!" Dad says coming in about ten minutes later, to find me still curled up in a ball on the floor.

"Where are we going?" I ask without moving. I blankly stare at the space between the rows of hardwood that make up the floor of my bedroom. I wish I could disappear into one of those spaces, and hide there wallowing in my misery for the rest of my life.

"I've signed you up for group therapy, it starts today, every Sunday at eight am," he says then pauses as if he wants to say something else. He opens his mouth and starts to say something then closes his mouth, "I'm sorry about your friend," he decides to say.

"She wasn't my friend," I state, maybe I'll jump off a skyscraper and fall to my death like in my dream. That way I'll be with Allison, I'll be able to watch Mom regret her decision and blame herself for my death. I'll watch her suffer for leaving me.

"Well then what was she?" he asks confused.

"She was my everything," I say. She was my best friend, she was my sister, she was my first love, she was my supporter, and she meant the world to me.

"Oh, well that's what therapy is for, these kids you'll be with have had a range of things happen to them, but this group is for teenagers who have lost a loved one. I'm sorry about your mother. I've hired my own therapist for the loss of my wife. God knows I love her," he says placing a hand to his heart.

I want to cry at his words. He loves her too! Because of Mom, we both have to suffer! I want to be angry with her, I want to be sad, I want to love her, and it's all so conflicting. How can I ever trust her again? How will I ever trust her again? Will I even have the opportunity to trust her, or will I never see her again? How can I move on with my life knowing she's out there somewhere in the world, living a life away from her only child and first husband?

"Do I have to go?" I ask. Group therapy, he's crazy if he thinks some stupid class is going to get rid of the damage from both Mom leaving and Allison dying before my eyes. He's also crazy if he thinks that I'm going to tell a bunch of strangers, why I'm messed up mentally.

I'd rather kill myself than go to this group therapy; it's a much easier way out. Maybe I actually will, I'll throw myself off of the roof of one of the buildings downtown, stab a knife in my chest, or choke myself and feel as my body slowly dies from loss of oxygen. I'll be Allison and I'll make sure Mom suffers for abandoning me. I'll haunt her forever and make sure she knows how much she hurt me.

"Yes, it's for the best. You can't lay on that floor for the rest of your life. You've got to get up and dust yourself off, literally and figuratively," he says, seeming irritated by my non-compliance.

"I am. And I'll make sure Mom suffers, and I'll have Allison by my side again," I say, hinting at my plans. I wonder how he'll fare if I die. Will he be sad, or be grateful he doesn't have to care for a depressed teenager anymore? Certainly one he thinks is a whore, who is a whore.

"Lydia... what do you mean Allison will be by your side? She's... she's gone Lydia. She died, you know this right? I thought you watched it happen... unless," he pauses and closes his eyes as the realisation of what I just said sinks in, "Don't do it Lydia," is all he says.

"Do what?" I ask, tilting my head up so I can see his face. The pain filled look on not just his face, but his eyes make me hurt more.

"Don't do what I know you're planning on doing, all you have to do is to go to these classes and you'll get better. A little broken, but able to live without disturbance. You could get married one day, and have children. You'll forget Mom even left, and you'll forget all about Allison. You'll make new friends in college and she'll just be a distant memory," he says lightly, saying all the wrong words.

Does he honestly think that I can just forget about my mother and my best friend, the word best friend does her no justice though, she was my everything, we had a bond that can never be broken even through death?

How could he say such things? Does he honestly believe you can really just forget something like being abandoned by a parent because they don't love you any more? Not only is it ignorant, it's plain stupid. Is he trying to make me respect him less?

"You're stupid," I sneer. I close my eyes not wanting to see the pain and hurt in his face. I feel my eyes water up as the thought of losing Dad along with Mom and Allison. I'll have nobody, nobody to love me. Nobody will ever want to marry me with all of my emotional baggage. I'll never experience love and the happily ever end I've always wanted, the happily ever ending that may possibly never come.

"Lydia. Killing yourself would not only be stupid, but selfish. I just lost my wife, I would not like to lose my daughter over some petty friend," he says. My heart shatters at his words: petty friend. He thinks Allison was just some petty friend. How dare he say such a thing?

"No wonder you have no friends," I say, voice wobbling. I hold back tears when I re-open my eyes and see the pained look on his face.

"Lydia. You'll get plenty more friends when as you go on in life. You need to learn to be able to move on," he says as I close my eyes again.

Contemplating just going back to sleep, exhausted from just talking to him. "Allison was more than my friend. Allison was my best friend, she was my sister, she was my first love, and she was my second half. We have a bond that even death can't break," I state, opening my eyes and staring straight into his identical green ones.

I watch the gears working in his head as he tries to find something, anything, to say. "You're going to this meeting whether you like it or not, I already paid," he says.

As if he truly cares about the money he paid for these classes. He just doesn't want to deal with the attention he'll get when the world finds out his perfect princess of a daughter wasn't perfect and killed herself. I'm sure there's already enough talk in the business world about one of the most powerful business couples divorcing.

I can't leave Allison all alone up there in heaven, she needs me, and I need her. No matter what anybody says or does, I'll find her. I'll do anything to have her back by my side. I'd go as far as selling myself to the devil to get her back. To be able to hug her one last time, kiss her cheek one last time, tell her how much I love her.

In addition, I can't let Mom get away with what she did: leaving her husband and daughter in ruins. She can't just leave and start new, or can she? How is she fairing? Does she regret her decision, and already pay with regret. She'd be back if that were the case, begging for our forgiveness right now, she be hugging and kissing me and telling me she'll never leave me again. Alternatively, she regrets her decision but her pride is keeping her away.

"I'm not going. It'll be useless, I don't want to forget Allison, and I want to be with her. I want to make Mom pay for what she did," I state, my mind made up. It will be killing two birds with one stone. Nobody loves me anyway. Dad doesn't love me; he thinks I'm a dirty whore. Now he probably hates me more because I made his wife go away, ruining not only his love life, but his reputation also, now that his business partner is gone.

"Why don't you just call your mother up? And, there's always Allison's funeral that you can say goodbye," he says lightly, possibly realising the extent of how important Allison was, and the extent that Mom hurt me.

"How can I ever trust her again? What if she came back and left just as fast as she came back? She betrayed me, she betrayed you. Don't you ever wonder if she regrets her decision? Does she realise how much she hurt me, hurt you? Does she know if she comes back, it will never be the same, and that we won't be able to trust her ever again?

In addiction, I don't want to say goodbye to Allison. I can't," I pause mid-sentence when my voice starts to go out. I swallow and continue, "I can't go on without her. I don't have a life without her; I'm nothing without her. I'm nothing without Mom.

How can I go on when I know Mom is out there somewhere, and Allison missed out on so many opportunities because of such a cruel and painful death." By the end, my tears have escaped and I'm crying lightly.

It's just not fair that God would take away such a young life, one that was healthy and happy, one that had many loved ones. I flash back to in that hospital room and the pain stricken faces of her parents. The identical scream of her mother when she finally died.

I have a flash back to the café yesterday, and how Allison said that there was something important she needed to tell Scott. What was that? Will we ever know? A mystery that will consume my thoughts for as long as I live. Did she suspect her death and want to say goodbye to him? In that case, why did she still ignore me? Did she stop loving me? Again, if that was the case what about all the things she said as she was dying? If she didn't love me she wouldn't waste her last words on me, she would've talked to her parents.

"Lydia. I know you're upset, but will you just go to this class. All you have to do to go to this on, and I'll discontinue it for you, how does that sound?" he says, defeat in his eyes. Why is it so important that I go to this stupid group therapy? I'm able to deal with my own problems, and I already know how I'm going to do it: kill myself.

I almost smile at how excited I am to be with Allison again. We'll be together forever. I almost smile, almost. That smile stops before it could even start to form. The hurt in Dad's eyes start to make me second-guess my happiness. Nothing is going to stop me, but his sadness may make the entire process that much harder.

"Fine," I say. However, when I get back home I'm taking care of business, and I'll be with Allison again, Mom will suffer the guilt of my death for the rest of her life. Maybe I'll make it even worse on her, I'll write her a letter telling her how much she hurt me, and how it's her fault I'm dead. That should be enough, unless she doesn't love me and doesn't care that I died.

I'd have to do something else to really get to her. I'll think them up on the way to this stupid group therapy. When I get back here, I'll write the letter or do what I came up with, and then I'll kill myself; Which is another thing I need to think about. How do I want to go through with it? A slow painful death perhaps or a fast painless one?

"Well, hurry up and let's go. We're going to be late," he says, seeming pleased I agreed to go.

As I stand multiple bones and muscles resist. I stretch and follow Dad out of the house. I don't care if my hair is a tangled messed, that my short skirt is wrinkled, and that my make-up is smeared across my face. I don't care that my silk blouse is crooked and shows way too much cleavage, and that the four inch heels I've worn for more than a day non-stop are causing my feet and ankles so much pain I'm walking with a limp. All I care about is how I'm going to make Mom suffer for her actions, and how I'll be with Allison soon.


	6. Chapter 6

He lied to me. He said that he was taking me to group therapy, but no he didn't take me there. He took me to a mental hospital, where they locked me in a room and took away all my things. They took away my phone, they took away my clothes, and they took away my shoes. Then they left me in the room with nothing, they left and said that they'd be back soon.

So now I sit on this bed thinking about the best way to get out of here. Because the longer I'm here, the longer it's going to take to get to Allison and get my revenge on Mom. The door finally opens and a woman in a doctor's outfit walks in with a nurse by her side. She pulls out the chair from the desk and sits at it.

"Hello Lydia, I'm Dr. Toro and I'll be your doctor during your stay here at Beacon Hills Mental Institution. So to my understanding your father brought you here because you were suicidal, is this correct?" she asks in a light soothing voice.

I don't respond because why should she care if I want to kill myself or not? If I want to end my life, then why can't I? My death doesn't affect her in any way, shape, or form. Why should I be considered crazy for wanting to end my life earlier than it would normally end? I'm going to die one day anyways so why does it matter?

"Lydia, I know this is strange and new to you, but trust me when I tell you're here for a good reason. You're father was right to bring you here instead of allowing you to harm yourself," she says, her voice even more soothing.

I haven't even looked at her face yet. I continue to stare at the carpeted floor not moving. Maybe she'll go away if I don't respond to her. I want to scream at her to go away; I want to leave this place so I can be with Allison. I miss her so bad it's not even funny. I want to hug her, laugh with her, talk to her, kiss her, and tell her how much I love her. Tears begin to well up in my eyes at the thought of being without her.

"Okay. Well can you tell me why you felt it necessary to end your life so early?" she asks.

I have the answer, because I miss my second half so terribly bad. I squeeze my eyes shut as images of her happy and healthy flash through my mind. Us as children playing hide-and-seek in the forests behind my house, I thought I lost her and started to cry but she popped out and hugged me and told me she was okay. It was the first day of middle-school and she was afraid nobody would want to be her friend, so me being so dramatic, I asked to put something on the giant electronic billboard in the quad. It read 'Allison Argent you are the most amazing best friend ever, I love you, from your best friend Lydia!' When she saw it she turned bright red, but when we got back to her house she hugged me and said thanks.

I almost laugh at this memory, but quickly remember why I'm thinking about it. Because I'll never get to see her face again, never get to see her beautiful smile, never get to hug and hold her again, never get to talk to her or kiss her when she's feeling down. Never get to give her dating advice because she's not alive anymore.

It's the reason I'm ending my life, so I can kiss her, hug her, see her smile, and watch her laugh. I'll hold her for all of eternity and never let go. I won't allow her to ignore me ever again. I won't allow us being separated ever again.

"Lydia, can you tell me why you're crying?" the doctor asks, sympathy dripping from her voice. I don't want her pity, I don't want to see her sad. She shouldn't care if I die or not, I'm not her daughter, I'm not her sister, I'm not her friend, or even an acquaintance, I haven't even seen her face yet.

"Get away from me! Just leave me alone!" I roar at her, a sudden rage ripping through me. Why does she care, but my own mom doesn't? I'm not this lady's daughter but she cares about me more than my own mom, it's so unfair. My mom just thinks I'm a dirty whore, and because of it she didn't care enough to stay. I'm nothing to her, So many memories that are all nothing now because of some daft assumption.

"Lydia, maybe you should calm down," she says, slightly alarmed by my irate state.

"Why should I?! Why do you even care?! I don't want to be here, I want to be with Allison!" I wail, falling onto the bed in a loud whimper. I'm over-come with so much despair all I want to do is cry. I want to scream and cry and die. I can't live on this earth anymore; certainly not when nobody loves me, when my second half isn't here anymore. I don't have a reason to be here, my place is with Allison.

"Can you please tell me who Allison is?" she asks, seeming satisfied she's getting something out of me, even if I'm screaming it at her.

Instead of answering I scream. Scream in anguish, I scream in rage, I scream because I can't handle this. I can't handle these extreme emotions, I can't comprehend the fact Allison is actually dead, the fact Mom left. Everything was so normal just a few short months ago, and now it's all so terribly horrifying. I scream and wail and pound my fists and kick my legs on the bed.

"Lydia, if you don't calm down, I'll have to sedate you," the doctor says and when I don't stop screaming and thrashing she calls for back-up.

I don't want to forget Allison, I don't want to move on, and I want to be with her forever. I refuse to be happy again, not until I can hold and kiss Allison again. I refuse to let death make my love for her go away. Death is only a small obstacle, not when I can cross over that bridge and we can be together forever in our after-life. We can sit together and hold hands and watch the world go on. I'd never let go of her hand, I'd never let her out of my sight.

Too busy letting out my extreme distress and anger I fail to notice a man come in with a straightjacket. I continue to scream deafeningly and thrash around as he forces me into the suit and take me someplace else. Even though I can no longer move I continue to scream at the top of my lungs, refusing to let them do this to me.

Why am I considered mentally insane for a perfectly legitimate reason to want to kill myself? Why can't they leave me alone so I can move on? Why can't I move on to my after-life with Allison where I'd be happy and content; where I'd be healthy and loved? Why would they take away my right to be happy? Why do I have to live my life walking around a dead person? Why should the love I once was able to feel die and go away? Why should my happiness shrivel up and die? The love I felt for Mom, dead, doesn't live here anymore.

Suddenly I feel sleepy. They must have given me a shot, and all I remember is the people staring from the shadows. Watching and covering their ears because of my screams. Some look sympathetic, some look scared, some are laughing, some are stoic, and some are crying. They're the other patients, in here for their own mental problems; and they all fade to blackness as I lose consciences.


	7. Chapter 7

When I wake up I'm strapped to a bed and it instantly makes me start to cry because it's the exact way Allison died; strapped a hospital bed. I don't even look around because I don't want to see what my prison looks like, so I squeeze my eyes shut and hold back left over screams of emotion. My throat already feels like it's on fire from my earlier screaming. I just want this to all end so I can be with Allison. That's all I want, so why doesn't anybody want me to be happy? Why are they taking away my right to be content, why are they forcing me to stay here and be depressed, to be unloved and unwanted?

"Lydia, you have a visitor, would you like to see them?" a nurse says coming in the room, she seems prepared for me to start screaming, but my throat hurts to much to even do that. Instead I ignore her.

It's probably just Dad, and I don't want to see how hurt he probably looks. I don't want to see the pain Mom caused him; I don't want to see how sorry he is for his whore of a daughter. He's probably glad they have me strapped to the bed like a killer, just because I'm highly upset. If they did this to every upset person in the world every single person would be strapped to a bed just like I am.

"Lydia, can you please answer me? I'm not here to talk to you, but somebody took the time to come visit you because they care about you," she says in a light voice that reminds me of the doctor from yesterday. Why can't they just talk to me like a normal person and not like I'm about to get up and kill them the second they talk in a regular voice. It's them talking like I'm about to explode that makes me want to scream at them.

"No," I answer, voice dry and raw from screaming. I don't want to see anybody other than Allison; she's the only person I want to see, "Allison…" I lowly whimper tears steadily streaming from my green eyes.

"Well even if you don't want to see them, you still need to come down to the mess hall for dinner," she says coming over and starts to take my straps off. I don't even move once she does that, but just lay there with my eyes squeezed shut and crying.

"Come on, I'll help you up," she says wrapping a gloved hand around my wrist. She tugs lightly when I make no movement.

"No!" I scream. I don't want to eat, I don't want to do anything, and I just want to be with Allison. "Allison!" I scream. I call to her up in the heavens as she waits. I open my eyes and look up at the roof, past the roof, past the sky, up there in heaven where Allison cries waiting for me, calling for me. "No! Allison!" I scream, begging for her to come down and save me.

The woman backs up scared when I rip my arm from her grasp and start to kick and punch angrily. They can't stop me! They can't take away my right. Allison is waiting for me, why can't they see that? I start top scream when two men come in and force me still while they strap my arms and legs back up. I continue to scream loudly, "No!" I wail," No! Allison! No! Let me go! Let me go! Allison!"

Once again they sedate me and my head hit's the pillow as my vision fades to blackness.

I wake up screaming. My dreams once again trick me. This time Allison came back. She came back for me and flew us with her angel wings to some place else. Not in heaven, not hell or earth. We sat and hugged for the longest time. We cried and cried until we could no longer cry. Then she took me to heaven and we stayed there together for the rest of eternity. Not once did I ever let go of her hand. It's so unfair that my mind could conjure up such torture.

After a few minutes my screams stop because my voice goes out. I lay still, unable to stop crying. I don't know how long I lay there, still strapped to the bed, and crying. I just want Allison, is it really that much to ask for? Nobody loves me here so why can't I go some place where I will be loved?

"Good morning Lydia," says a nurse in a normal voice, as she comes in. My dead eyes glance at her, and then my eyes well up in tears because of her striking resemblance to Allison. The black hair, dark eyes, the dimples, and just in general. Maybe it is Allison, manifested into another person so I can be with here even down here on earth.

I instantly smile at this and cry out in joy. She came, she came for me! "Hello," I say, voice even more hoarse than it was when I woke up from being sedated the first time. I can't believe she came! I would run up and hug her, but because I'm strapped to the bed I'm unable to.

"I see you're feeling better this morning, are you hungry?" she asks in a shocked voice, coming over to take my straps off. Of course I'm happy, Allison came for me, in the form of another person that looks so strikingly similar. Even her voice sounds like Allison's. She could be Allison's older sister, if she had one.

"Yes," I say, cooperating as she helps me out of the bed.

"Would you like me to brush your hair before we go down to the mess hall? That and well, get dressed?" she asks, leading me from my prison and down the hall. Other patients stare at me, shocked in my change of mood from the last time they saw me. My smile at the moment is so wide I can feel the burn in my cheeks. I'm holding so tightly to this woman they has to be Allison's message, and have my head resting on her shoulder as we walk. I'm crying still, but tears of pure bliss.

Leading me into a room she attempts to let go of me but I grip tighter, refusing to let go. Why Allison why? Why would you leave me when you just came back for me? "No!" I wail, face scrunching in depression. My good mood immediately disappears and I can feel a scream rising in my already aching throat.

"Lydia, I need to let you go so I can help you change," she says wincing from my deadly grip on her arm. She makes no movement probably knowing I'll start screaming the minute she tries anything. Allison! No! Don't leave me again, wrap me in your arms and tell me you love me. Tell me you'll never leave me ever again; tell me how much you missed me! No! Don't go!

"No!" I scream at the top of my lungs; my vision getting blurred from my tears that seem to never end. Why would you leave me when you just came for me? Why won't you stay any longer? You came for me, so why would you leave so soon? "No!" I scream digging my nails into her arm.

"Help please," she calls out of the open door, now desperately trying to remove her arm from my grasp. I let go and she runs towards the door in terror, "Help!" she calls again.

"No! Allison! No, don't go!" I wail running after her down the hall, "Allison, don't you love me anymore? Don't leave me like Mom, don't be like Mom! Don't be Mom! Don't Allison! No! Stop running! Stop! Wait! Allison, come back! I wish you'd stay! Do you still love me? Do you think I'm just a stupid whore too? Is that why you left? Huh? Answer me Allison, answer me! Is that why you ignored me? Because you think I'm a whore just like Mom and Dad? Do you still love me?" I scream as I chase her around this floor.

"I'm not Allison! I'm not Allison!" she yells, fearing for her own life.

"I just want you back Allison! I thought you loved me! I though you'd come back for me! Why are you running from me?" I wail, falling to the ground in defeat. I scream because it's all over. Even Allison doesn't want me anymore, Dad doesn't want me, Mom doesn't want me, and now Allison doesn't even want me. All I want is to be loved, I just want to be held and cared for. I hate myself; maybe if I was different would somebody love me? Would they love me if I was different? But I can't change, I can't change. I'll forever be me and I hate myself. I hate my stupid red hair, my ugly green eyes, my fat lips, my too thin waist, and too big breasts. I hate my personality, I hate everything about me. If only I was different, if only I had brown hair and brown eyes, if I had thinner lips, wider waist, and smaller breasts.

All death is going to get me is an eternity alone, Allison forever running away and me never catching her because she doesn't want me. I'll be forever alone, no parents, and locked in an asylum. I don't even struggle when a man comes and takes me away.

There's no point in struggling. Not when I don't have a reason to struggle. Getting to Allison no longer a goal in my mind. Just the knowledge of being forever alone. I'll sit in a room here for the remainder of my life, rotting away. No one will visit me because they'll all forget I exist.

Dad will forget about me, he'll move on from Mom, and he'll get re-married. He'll be the step-father to his new wife's children and he'll forget about me.

Mom will move on too, also get re-married to some rich man and live the rest of her life drowning in money, happy and content without me or Dad. She'll forget she even had a child and never regret the decision to leave me because she'll have forgot.

I'll sit in this mental ward for the rest of my life sitting on my bed staring at nothing. I'll get older and never get out, deemed too depressed to be allowed out. I'll make up millions of scenarios about how my life could have gone, and how it will end up. I'll think up millions of ways of getting back at Mom for ruining my life. I think up a million ways to make Dad happy again. I'll think up a million ways Allison could have survived and still loved me. I'll be an old lady and never have been touched by another man other than Jackson those so many months ago.

I'll just be nothing, the fading wallpaper in the background, the smudge in the corner you never look at, the lost item never to be found, the forgotten object once loved and held so dearly but now nothing. When I'll die the only people who will care is no one. No one will be there when I get buried in the ground. There will be no funeral for me, just a cranky man who shovels the dirt onto my casket. The world will forget that I even existed, and will move on.

I don't struggle anymore. There are no more struggles. I've accepted the fact that nobody cares I exist, no one cares I was born. I'm nothing, nothing at all. "I'm hungry," I sigh to the guy who carries me back to get locked up. I probably haven't eaten since that mocha on Saturday. It feels like it was a year ago when I sat there waiting for Allison. I was a different person then. I was beautiful, I was myself. Now, I'm insane, I'm horrifying, and definitely not the same person I was three months ago. I was the queen of Beacon Hills High School, I was the most beautiful girl in the town, I had two doting and in love parents, I didn't have a care in the world.

"You can go down to the mess hall as soon as you're all cleaned up," he says in a tired voice, dragging me behind him.

"I want to go now!" I whine, tugging back. I haven't eating for two days, why do I have to look nice to eat?

"Suit yourself," he states, then drags me down the stairs and into the large mess hall. Patients line the tables and at the other end is the place you get your food. It reminds me of a school cafeteria except full of mentally unstable people.

He lets me go but still escorts me to a table. I sit quietly staring at the faux wooden table. "Hi I'm Jen, you are?" says the girl next to me. Slowly I look up at her and instantly regret it. The black hair, the brown eyes, and the dimples, they all remind me of Allison and how she left me here all alone and unloved. She looks to be the same as me or maybe a little older.

I don't say anything as I stare at her. It's too much work to even talk to anyone when I know they'll just end up doing to me what Mom and Allison did, leave. I stare at her with fresh tears as she sits waiting for me to respond.

"Here you go Lydia, food just like you requested," says a woman placing a tray of food in front of me. She sits on the other side of me, clearly waiting for me to finish.

I look down at the tray and begin eating the food. I eat the food without as much as tasting it, "More?" I whisper looking up at the woman.

"You can eat again later, how does that sound?" she says smiling at me. I ask for one simple thing and I can't even get it? Why should I be denied food when I haven't eaten in two days?

"No, more," I state, beginning to cry. Why can't I at least get food? I've lost everything and I can't even get some food? That's cruel.

"Lydia, the other patients need to eat also," she says, smile gone as she pats my arm. I meet her dark blue eyes and all I see is how pathetic I must be to her. Just a crazy, vulnerable, and pathetic patient. I turn and stare down at my empty food tray and watch as my tears splatter inside it. All I want is something to eat, that's all I want.

"All I want…" I whisper, still crying. She rubs my arm in soothing circles and it does nothing to help me.

"She can have my bread, I wasn't going to eat it anyways," Jen says from the other side of me. She drops the bread onto my tray and continues to look at me.

"Thank you," the lady says. Somebody cares. She shouldn't. She shouldn't care, she doesn't know me, she's not my friend, and she's just going to leave me. She'll leave me just like Mom, she'll leave me just like Allison, and she'll lock me away like Dad.

Slowly I reach for the bread and gobble it up real quickly like I'll never get to eat again. "I'll help you back to your room and Miss. Glen is going to come up and talk to you. How does that sound? You don't have to tell her anything you don't want to, she just wants to help you get better. Would you like to get better Lydia? All you have to do is talk to her and answer a few questions. Okay? Then she'll leave and maybe you can go over to the game room," the lady says helping me out of my seat.

"Okay," I say nodding. Miss. Glen is going to help. I want help; I don't want to live here the rest of my life. I want someone to love me and hold me. I want to get better. I want to move on. I want to live my life; I want to fall in love again. I want to have children, which I'll never leave, never stop loving, never let go of.


	8. Chapter 8

That night Jen finds me sitting in the corner of the game room, curled in a ball and staring blankly at a stain in the beige carpet. "Hey Lydia! Wanna play a card game with me?" she asks sitting next to me on the bright yellow love seat. I think everything here is so bright and colourful to make us feel happier. Except it doesn't help, if anything it pisses me off.

I don't respond but look over slowly. She looks so happy in her pink skinny jeans and white t-shirt with the words 'join the dark side, we have cookies'. I hadn't noticed the shirt in the mess hall earlier. Her happiness bugs me, if she's so happy and seemingly fine then why is she in here? I look away, back to the stain in the ugly carpet.

"It's okay. I didn't talk at first either, I was afraid they'd think I was crazy, but then I realised that we're all crazy, why else would we be here?" she laughs. My dead stare doesn't change. I don't talk because it's too much of an effort. Talking would be making friends and making friends leads to a broken heart. By talking to Allison those many years ago, it broke my heart. I don't ever want that to happen again.

She nudges me with her shoulder but I don't respond, I do switch my gaze to a girl that is probably five-years-old tops standing in the middle of the room screaming at the top of her lungs. I quickly look away, back on the stain. I wonder about its history, how it got there, how long ago, who made it be there.

"I know you can talk, I heard you talk in the mess hall. Well even if it was just a gruff word or two. It gets better the longer you're here too. You get used the routine, used to the food, used to the people and their mental behaviours. Like that kid over there, he's been here longer than I have and he's never spoken a word. He's actually kinda cute, I wonder how much older then me he is. He's probably seventeen, and then he'll get transferred to the adult unit. I'm fifteen, how about you?" she asks. Fifteen? She looks older than that.

"I don't wanna…" I trail off standing up. I don't like her, she talks too much. She's too nice; she's going to hurt me in the end. The mute boy must be doing the same thing, avoiding friends by not talking. I want to be like him and be avoided and ignored. I don't want anyone's time of day; they're just going to leave me.

I start to cry and sit back down. "You okay?" she asks touching my shoulder lightly. No! No, stop talking to me! Go away! I don't want to be your friend! I cry harder. I don't want her to leave me; she's going to leave me in pieces like Mom and Allison. That's all people do is move from one relationship to the next. I bet Mom is already swooning over a new step-daughter, I bet Allison is up there in heaven not ever giving one thought about me, I bet Dad has already married up a woman barely older than me and is already having another kid. They've all forgot about me! The people at school probably have already forgotten I exist. No body will remember me when I get out, they won't recognise me, they won't remember my name, they'll forget all about Lydia Martin. I'll be nothing.

"Stop!" I scream cringing away from her soothing touch. No, she's going to hurt me. I don't want to be hurt again, I don't want to! I'm nothing, and I want to stay that way. Being a someone requires being hurt. I don't want to be hurt anymore. I don't want to lose another loved one.

"It's okay Lydia, relax, I'm not going to hurt you, I just want you to have a friend…" she trails off frantically. She must know what happens next. I want that to come quickly so more time will pass. Another day down, one less day to sulk in my despair.

"I don't want…" I trail off yet again, slumping against the back of the couch. I don't want a new friend; you're just going to hurt me! I can't handle it. I don't want you to rip my heart out and stomp it into the pavement like Mom and Allison did.

"What don't you want?" she asks worried. I wipe the tears coming from my eyes and yawn. I'm so tired, and not because they put me to sleep this time. Because my body and mind is so tired of all these emotions and confusing thoughts. Just earlier I was bent on killing myself and now killing myself would be the worst idea. It would damn me to forever chasing Allison; it would mean I would see everything everybody is doing without me. It'd be worst then being locked up in here.

"No friends, they only hurt, they leave you with a broken heart," I whisper hoarsely. It's the most words I've said in a while, the most words I've ever said to Jen, the last words I'm ever saying for as long as I'm in this place, which might be a while. Maybe my last words will make her stop talking to me. If she still tries I might scream. Scream for her to get away from me. Scream because I'm angry.

"Were you bullied? You don't look like the type, you're too pretty, and you look like you'd be popular with lots of great friends and tons of guys waiting on you. Before I came here, I didn't have many friends. I always looked at girls like you with envy because of your good looks, flawless skin, to die for curves, and attention. Like this one time this girl Samantha and I were best friends in elementary school and the next year in seventh grade she became all popular and ignored me and I'd watched her with envy and hate. I hated how in just a year she went from being my awkward best friend to popular woman the next. I envied her new curves, her new more womanly figure, her now flawless skin, the attention she was getting from guys and all the new friends she made. Were you like Samantha before this? Were you popular and liked and all that? If so, then who hurt you? Did your boyfriend of like five years break up with you? Did your best friend ditch you for some other girl?" she says. I have the slight urge to either strangle her or punch her in the face. I'm still deciding which would hurt more and cause more damage. I know she's trying to help, but can one crazy person really help another? I don't think so.

I stand and walk out of the game room without as much as a glance. A nurse immediately comes over and grabs my hand. "How are you feeling?" she asks helping me to my room. I wonder if all the nurses and workers know everything about all the patients. It is really small, there's only about forty kids and teenagers in here, tops.

I don't say anything. When Miss Glen came in to ask me questions I had shut down and when she pushed I started screaming. This nurse was in the room when they put me to sleep for a few hours. When I woke up I was feeling the same as I was before I wanted help. I don't want help anymore. I don't want people to help me, because I don't want anybody to care about me. If they care then they'll hurt me in the end. Wanting help was a bad idea.

"Well, I hope you start talking soon so we can give you the help you need, if we can't figure out why you're depressed then we can't help you get better," she says in a soft voice. She has big dark eyes that make her look so kind. Her shoulder length light brown hair accents her triangular face perfectly and she looks like the nicest woman in the world. Except she used the word help, she wants them to help me. She's immediately an enemy in my eyes.

Again I don't respond and when we get to my private room and she closes the door I lay on my bed and cry for no reason. I think I fell asleep because next thing I now, the nice nurse is shaking me awake, "Your mother is here to see you, she's right outside in the visiting quarters. Would you like to see her?" she asks. I lay for a moment attempting to process the words that just came from her mouth. When it finally sinks in I can't decide whether I should be happy or angry or what. My mind automatically turns to anger and I start to scream. Screaming is more or less a reflex these days. The only way to get my anger and depression out.

"Lydia," she says patiently, "Your mother is worried sick about you, why don't you give her a chance?" Why should I give her a chance? She left me when I needed her most and she thinks she can just come back and I'll greet her with open arms. She can't cause me more pain than she already has, she's killed me and she thinks that if I see her again I'll come back to life and everything will go back to normal? No, no! She's wrong, I hate her!

"No!" I scream and cry and shake with anger. No, this can't be happening. It can't, no, she's not going to tell me Allison came back from the dead too is she? I don't want to look into Mom's blue eyes and listen to her tell me how sorry she is when she's not sorry at all. She's probably just here so she doesn't have to pay the bill; she probably can't wait to get back to her new husband, her new life.

"Lydia honey?" I hear a familiar voice say from the doorway. I begin to cry harder. No, no, it's not her. It can't be her. I sob until my throat burns, "Oh Lydia, I'm so sorry! I didn't know… I called you… I didn't know I swear, I'm sorry honey, I'm sorry!" Mom cries running over and collapsing next to my bed. I turn away from her and scream.

"No! Go Away!" I scream, gripping fistfuls of the sheets, body violently shaking with anger, sobbing loudly. No, No! You're not sorry! Go Away! You killed me; you don't deserve to have my love anymore. You can't come back with a mere sorry and think everything will be fine. We were close then, but you took that away, you took all of my love with you.

"Lydia, I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking, I was angry with your father. I didn't know leaving would…" she trails off. Does she honestly think that her own daughter, her flesh and blood, wouldn't love her? Was she really stupid enough to think that I don't love her? It makes me cry harder, if even possible. She was too busy with her own life, too blinded by what she thought I was to see the major love I had for her. She didn't even know I loved her. She thought that know that I was older I'd stop loving her? Is that what she thought?

Through my sobs and screaming and shaking I failed to realise that I wasn't breathing, so the tear soaked white sheets began to turn black and I lose consciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

I wake up and have a brief moment of numbness. I stare at the ceiling waiting, for what? I'm not sure, something, anything, some kind of emotion to make me feel alive. Is this how it feels to die, to feel nothing? Because that's how I feel, dead, I would think that maybe I was dead if it weren't for the slight rise and fall of my chest and the pounding of my heart in my chest. I urge myself to move, to give some indication that I'm not stuck in a coma. I've heard stories where people aren't even aware they're in comas and they can hear what people say and in their head they respond and live there life as if they were fine. I'd hate that.

My mind wanders through my memories, trying to find anything that will bring an uprising of any emotion, something to make me feel alive and not like nothing. This would've been bliss just a few days ago and many weeks before that. This numbness would've kept me from letting their words get to me like they did, if I was like this then they'd simply be words that enter my ears but don't stay in my brain as anything meaningful. Yet, as they were being said they were very meaningful, very strong, building to the wall of sticks I'd put up for myself. I thought my wall was stable but it only took one blow and it crumpled to pieces, leaving me in ruins. If I was numb then that wall would've been made of bricks, cemented so closely together there'd be no way to break it, no matter how hard anyone can try.

I see myself as being stable enough to walk through the halls of Beacon Hills High School with my head held high with this numbness. Where did it come from though? It confuses me. Perhaps a dream had caused this, or the aftermath of seeing Mom yesterday. Maybe I'd put up a wall to block myself from the pain of seeing her. I can only guess though, I have no proof to support any of the theories I have thought of.

I continue to search, cycling through the last few weeks with near perfect clarity. None of the words they say sting at the moment, the moment Mom leaves brings me no emotion, Allison's death passes through my head and I don't even blink. It's like the wall I've tried so hard to build in the pass few months decided to show up now, when it can help none, when it's too late.

My mind stops of one particular memory, one of big, caring brown eyes looking at me with so much worry it nearly breaks my heart. It's what it took though, the emotions flow back in with such a hard impact that I nearly scream. I suffice with loud sobs that make my head hurt and my ribs ache. I turn on my side and curl into a ball, watching as my tears soak my pillow. If it wasn't for the pain, I'd almost be relieved. Numbness is what I may have wanted in the past, but now, it was terrifying.

With my emotions back I shut of my memories, but those big brown eyes just won't go away. They stare at me in my head, making me cry harder, because I want to have those eyes look at me like that again. I want to see that someone still worries and cares about me. People without love are nothing, everybody whether they want to admit it or not strives to love and be loved. We simply cannot live without it, whether it is a family love, friend love, romantic love we can't live without it. Isn't that the whole reason I'm here? Because I've lost the people who once loved me and the ones I love?

I should've told Mom that I loved her; maybe she didn't feel loved in our household and went to find love someplace else. That would seem logical, to me at the very least. I held it all in because I thought that she didn't love me back. I was scared to say those three little words that can destroy your life if not dealt with carefully. Could I accept her back into my life? Can she be forgiven? Should she be forgiven? She is the woman who carried me for ten months, gave me life, held me close when I needed her, raised me, and loved me, she's my mother. How can I deny my mother? It should break her heart with the way I reacted to her presence when she came back.

How can you watch your flesh and blood, that you'd spent so long caring for so they could grow up, reject you because of one mistake? It's unfair to her. I miss her, I want her back, and I want her back so badly it hurts. I just want to feel loved, to be cared for like those haunting brown eyes did.

My crying slows down and eventually stops. I lay, my mind swarming with emotions and a yearning for love so strong it almost makes me start crying again. Will this cycle of crying ever end? This can't be all depression is, just crying, I can never stop, never control it. It makes me lose track of time, makes me lose track of my life. Crying is my life now, all I do is cry, I want to stop, but I don't. I'm scared of going back and trying to continue with them, without Mom, without Allison. My crying starts at the thought of my one true friend, my love, my best friend, my sister, the girl who held me when I cried, who laughed with me, who fell down with me, the one person in the entire world that would jump off the Golden Gate Bridge with me just because of a stupid impulse. The only person who could call me at three a.m. just to say hi, the one that cuddled with me while watching movies, the one who'd have my locker open before I got there, my book waiting in her hands. Now, she's nothing, the one person I loved the most, the one person I would put my life in their hands, is no longer here, and that's what I did. I put my heart, my soul, in her hands and she took it with her when she died.

How could anyone ever replace her? How could I ever experience happiness when she's not here to share it with? Who can I tell my deepest darkest secrets and open my very core up to? No one, whispers a voice. I'll never have that; I'll be a lost body without a soul. Already dead and waiting for fate to tell me when. I'm scared, so, so scared.

"Lydia." It's her. My body tightens in fear. What will be said? What is there to say? What is she going to say? She waits for me. I stifle back my cries; I hold them back with every ounce of my body. Slowly I turn and open my eyes. She looks horrible. I close my eyes. It's not her, meaning because it's her, its how she's dressed, her face seems ten years older, and her hair hasn't been brushed. She's been crying and she hasn't slept in a long time. Is it because it hurt?

"Mommy." I whisper it without opening my eyes. My voice is rough; my throat is raw from all the crying.

"Lydia, don't do this, please." She's pleading with me. Don't do what? Cry, because it's an embarrassment to have your daughter locked in a loony bin on suicide watch? I turn away from her. I knew it wasn't because she loves me; it's for her image, her reputation. Her reputation is more important than me, her only child, and her one and only daughter.

"Lydia, baby girl… I didn't mean to hurt you, it was just…" I start to turn her out, hearing words every now and then as she comes up with an excuse. "Your father…stressed out…my job… money… I thought you…" I can't hold back the tears. She's such a selfish bitch! I can't believe I ever missed her! It an embarrassment to me that I even thought about forgiving her! I start to scream to shut her up. I don't want to hear lies, excuses to why you would leave your own child as her best friend is dying, when she's already depressed and fighting with all her might to hide it.

Maybe Allison dying was my punishment for not telling her how unhappy I was. It was my punishment for hiding my depression and agony away and only showing her what I show everyone else. As she drifted away from me, I was drowning; I didn't think she cared about me anymore, not with Scott in the picture. When I stop screaming I don't hear her anymore. A nurse told her to leave me alone. I like that nurse.

I drift off to sleep without being sedated, my mind a muddled fog. I dream of darkness, off falling, drowning, every way to die, hunted by monsters, being stuck in my house while it's on fire, I hear my mother yelling, they're arguing while the house is burning down. They're safe, my mother and father, they're outside thinking I've snuck off. They don't know I'm burning, banging on my door but they can't hear me because they're arguing about what to do now. I'm in the back of their mind, I've run off for the night they've told themselves and put me in a safe folder tucked at the bottom of their pile of thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10

A.N. I got the idea for this chapter from a review, I don't remember the name of the person, but I thank that person. I wasn't sure how to introduce Stiles so that helped a lot! Let's see, er, I guess just tell me if you liked it or not and if Lydia's reaction seemed accurate. I recently re-read the whole story and noticed Lydia has a lot of conflicting feelings and opinions and I thought I'd explore it a little more with the whole Stiles situation. You should get what I mean when you finish this chapter. That being said, I'm not sure how quickly this is going to turn into a romance story and exactly how soon it'll be over, but I'll give it another five chapters. I'm not sure how I'm exactly going to approach the romance part of this story and ending so if you have any ideas, even if you think they're stupid, I'm waiting with open arms and an open mind!

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I'm on a schedule now, I have to eat a special diet at a specific time, I have to take pills at a specific time of day, I have to spend at least two hours a day in the game room, so many hours with Mrs. Glenn, so many hours sleeping, but not one minute of free time to just lay in my bed and cry. No more crying, no more wallowing in pity and despair.

I'm doing my two hours in the game room. Jen is talking my ear off next to me on the bright couch; I'm staring at the stain in the carpet. I oddly don't have the urge to cry, but I do feel like throwing up and the room is spinning slightly. It's probably the medicine. I don't feel very happy though, I feel sad, and I feel like I'm dead inside still. The couch dips next to me; someone's leg is touching mine. A nurse nearby is waiting for me to start screaming, she looks nervous. I look at the person, and then I cry.

"Hi…" It's Stiles. What is he doing here? He's weird, not crazy. The deep brown eyes are here, they look scared, worried, and ready to start crying. I suck in a deep breath, stop crying. He wants to touch me but the nurse is looking with so much intensity he knows not to. She's five seconds away from preparing for me to explode and start screaming. I don't want to scream, yet.

I smile and say nothing. The nurse lets out a breath but still watches with a slightly less worried look. The brown eyes look happy. Stiles is happy I smiled. "Hi." it's a whisper, but he hears it. He smiles at me. He's familiar, he's always been there, no surprises, nothing new, and I feel happy to see him.

"Who is this? Is this someone you knew before coming here? Was he one of your boyfriends? Why is he here?" Jen starts asking a million questions and it makes me bad. I want to turn to her and push her away and scream at her. I want her to leave me the fuck alone because I hate her. The only amount of happiness I've felt in months and she wants to be nosy and ruin it.

I turn and yell at her. I don't know what I'm saying, I scream at her and I restrain from hitting her. Stiles' leg gets stiff. The nurse didn't expect me to turn on Jen, and rushes over. Jen runs away and it makes me happy to see her crying. I ignore the nurse and turn back to Stiles. The brown eyes are scared again, and nervous, Stiles is very nervous.

"Hi." I say it first. I wipe the tears from my face and smile at him. I don't care I look like shit, I'm too happy to care how I look. I don't know why he makes me happy. He cares about me and I don't care about getting hurt in the end. I want him to hold me and care about me like I know he does. He's always cared, but I was too uninterested in him to pay any attention. He doesn't care about me just because I'm depressed; he cares because he likes me, not because it's his job.

I lay my head on his shoulder and he doesn't say anything. Nothing and I like it. There's no point in asking if I'm okay, he knows I'm not, he knows I don't want to talk. Somehow, someway he sees and knows me, the real me, not what I showed the world, he say past my mask and knows me better than the back of his hand. It comforts me, he won't leave me. He's safe.

He brushes back some of my hair with a shaky hand. I close my eyes and breathe in his familiar scent. Cigarettes from trying to be cool, musk from running around in the woods because it's the only thing to do here, and under all of that, his scent, the one he was born with, the one that will never go away. He's safe; he's never going to leave me.

"Thank you." He says it in his typical nervous fashion, the voice he always uses with me because he's always nervous around me. My affection is new to him, he's used to me ignoring him completely, used to me being a bitch to him, and this is new territory and its one thing he doesn't know how to handle.

He doesn't tell me how I'm going to get better, how I'm going to return to school and how life will go on. He's just thanking me for the honour of being the only one I didn't scream at for caring. It's enough for him, and I want to stay like this forever. His arm is now around me, I'm snuggled into his side, and I'm crying because I don't want this to end. For once he's not rambling on about nothing because he's nervous, because he knows better, he's holding back, for my sake. I wonder if the nurses told him. I wonder if I would've screamed at him if they didn't make me take medicine, the medicine that gave me the ability to feel this happiness. He's the therapy to go along with the medicine.

"Lydia, it's time to see Dr. Glenn." I want to scream, no! I cling to him and stare into those brown eyes like they'll save me. He doesn't want me to go either. The tears are already clouding me vision, blocking out the brown eyes.

"I don't wanna…" I cry. Stiles is shocked at the sound of my voice. It's nothing he's ever heard, the desperation, the sadness, the udder despair. He starts to tremble, he's terrified of it.

"Lydia, you're two hours are up, I'm sorry you spent your time sitting on this couch staring at the floor, but it's time to leave, now." The end is commanding but I don't care. Why do I have to see the doctor? She already knows what's going on. Why can't I stay here with him?

"No…"I knew it wasn't going to last. They were going to take him away from me right at the beginning, I should've known. The nurse is practically ripping me from him. He says nothing, he's shaking and the brown eyes are looking at me with a scared worried look. He doesn't know what to say. I cry harder as the brown eyes get farther and farther away, and then they're gone. He's gone, along with everyone else, everyone that's ever cared about, now gone.

After the doctor I eat my dinner in the mess hall, I see him on the other side of the room, watching me. I eat with a bit of happiness. The nurse takes me to my room after for bed. I want to know what room he's staying in, why he's here. I lay in bed for hours without sleeping, softly crying, wanting him to be with me. I can't sleep another side-effect of the medicine, I can't sleep, and the nurse comes to check on me a few times throughout the night. She knows I'm still awake because she hears me crying.

He doesn't leave my mind once, even as I drift off to sleep, finally. He's in my dreams, a happy dream, a sad dream, a dream about death, a nightmare that makes me wake up screaming, a dream about Mom, a dream about Allison, a dream about being left behind.

This is the only one I remember, the last dream before I wake up in the morning. I'm only three and I'm at the park with Mom, Dad, Allison, Stiles is there too. We're all playing in the playground, Mom is chasing me, Stiles is running around playing on the monkey bars, Dad is watching with a smile, Allison is on a swing. The Scott comes; he sits on the swing next to Allison. I want to talk to her but she ignores me because she wants to play with Scott now.

Mom and Dad start to argue, Mom doesn't hear me asking her to pick me up, she doesn't feel me tugging on her pant leg, and then she leaves. Dad starts yelling at me, and Allison disappears, Stiles is standing in a tower staring down at me, the brown eyes. Then the park closes and they take Stiles away, Dad leaves me, Scott is gone too. I'm left in the park, it's night-time and I'm all alone, hiding under the play structure, scared someone might find me, a scared little three-year old. Dad is always telling me about the bad men who come to the park at night. I'm scared they might find me, scared they might take me away.

It's almost morning, I come out thinking its safe, I see the sun, it's about to come up. Then I see black, a big black figure, it blocks out the sun. It picks me up and I scream, it knocks me out and I don't wake up. It's all because they left me, the bad men came, they found me and now I can't wake up, all I know is black, all I know is not feeling my body, I just know being scared because I don't know what's going on. I can't see, I can't hear, I can't feel. What is it doing with me? Where am I going now?

I thought this was the worst of it, the not knowing, except it does get worse. It's killing me, slowly, so slow I feel every little touch, and every touch brings me more pain than I've ever felt. It's physical, it's emotional, and it's mental. I'm in so much pain, and I'm terrified, I'm mad, I'm sad, I feel desperate, I want someone to save me before it's too late.

Nothing comes for me, I know, because I'm in hell. I don't know what I did wrong to be here. They left me, and now I'm dead and in hell. Am I being punished for not being a good enough girl, because nobody loved me enough? I'm only three; I don't know what's right, and what's wrong. I knew nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

I knew my happiness would be short-lived. Maybe they figured out the he wasn't really crazy and kicked him out, or maybe his dad was the one who pulled him out. For whatever reason, he's gone. I've stayed in my room and cried for I'm not sure how long. I wonder if they'll figure it out. Even the doctor has come into my room, the antidepressants aren't working, they're putting me on a new dosage, more, they're pumping me full of drugs until I'm happy and stop crying. Even happy people cry sometimes, I wonder if they realise that.

Bad dreams, nightmares, terrorize and haunt me at night and memories during the day. The grief is still here, the wound from Allison's death is too fresh to heal, and the pain from being abandoned by your own mother because she thinks you're a slut is still new. They'll drug me up and tell me to forget, that way I can stop wasting their money on me and Dad and Mom won't have a reputation for having their seemingly perfect daughter locked up in a loony bin.

I refuse to humour them. I still want to grieve, I still want to scream and cry, I want someone to care about me and want me out of here because of that, not because of money and time and reputations. I want what Stiles has to offer, what he's been holding out to me for as long as I've known him. I want his love.

All I'd have to do is get out of here. Act happy, like I've mastered, and then leave this place behind me. They're ready for me to leave, even if my depression and whatever else they tell me I have isn't ready for me to leave.

I suck back my tears, I have to be patient. This may take days; I can keep up a façade for a week, a month, no matter how long it's going to take. I stand and walk to the mirror. First step is looking presentable. I need a bathroom, I need to shower, to wash away my tears and brush my hair. I don't know why there's a mirror in here, someone suicidal might use it to kill themselves. My cheeks are plump, I've gained weight. They make me eat three times a day; they're big hearty meals, packed with calories I bet.

I make myself as presentable as possible; I install my perfect posture, my fake smile, a fake gleam of happiness in my eyes. Looking happy is keys and eye's can make it or break it. You can smile all you want, but if your eyes look depressed, and then you're fooling no one.

A nurse comes to check on me, I tell her I need to use the restroom. This is going to work. I look happy on the outside, inside I'm still dead. She monitors my shower, she watches me brush my hair, she watches me brush my teeth, and then she leads me to the game room.

I still don't like Jen, and she doesn't approach me. I'll play with one of the little kids; I wonder why a five-year-old would be in here. Maybe I'll ask, maybe they'll tell me. I sit down next to a little boy playing with a toy car. He looks like an average little five-year-old boy, what is so wrong with him that he has to be locked up in this depressing place?

"Hi." He looks up curiously. His eyes are wide; behind the curiosity is something deeper. It nearly makes me tremble. He looks back down at his toy and ignores me. I wait for a few minutes, watching him play. He doesn't seem bothered by me sitting here staring.

"So, which is your favourite hot wheel?" I ask. I saw a commercial before; they make all kinds of cars. He's playing with a green Ford van.

He looks up and stares at me. I wonder what's going on in his head. Is he depressed like me? Did his Mom die, did she leave him? Did his Dad beat him? Or is he crazy, with schizophrenia, autism, PTSD?

"Did they tell you that you were crazy too?" he whispers. He looks sad, depressed even. He's just a little boy! It nearly brings me to tears. He doesn't fail to notice. He reaches up and brushes a tear away.

"My mom left me." I tell him. I know he'll understand, because anyone would understand being left behind by your mother. He stays silent for a while, thinking about what to say. He nods after some time.

"It hurts, in here?" he puts his hand to my breast, over my heart. I nod and reach up and hold his tiny hand. This is so depressing, I can't keep up my façade, and it's too hard. I burst into tears. I want my mom, I don't want her, I love her, I hate her, I don't trust her, I'd put my life in her hands, this is all so hard.

"You've been hurt?" how could a five-year-old understand my pain? He should be worried about writing letters to Santa and begging his parents to go to the park. Instead he's locked in a mental hospital, understanding the pain of a girl three times his age. Why would his parents do this to him?

"My teacher said I was the devil, my parents want me stay in here forever, they don't believe me though. I'm not crazy like the others." For a five-year-old, he talks very well. The most intelligent speaking five-year-old I've ever met.

"I want to get out of here. They won't let me though, I know they won't." I'm confiding in a five-year-old. I trust this boy, and I don't know why. I'm holding his small hand in my lap now. Some other kid came and took away his toy, but he didn't notice.

"They won't let me out too. My mommy hates me, she wish she had another kid, and not me. She's mad because I'm not perfect. She's mad I killed her other kid. She wishes I died, not my sister." I don't show it, but it's thrown me off at this new news. Is it okay for them to let a killer in here with other crazy people?

"How'd your sister die?" I can't fight the curiosity. Why did he kill his sister?

"It was an accident. She was big as you; she was pushing me around, telling me what to do. She was yelling at me and I pushed her, then she fell off to the bottom floor in our house. I didn't mean to kill her, I didn't mean too…I love my sister, I do. I didn't want to kill her, I didn't want to." he starts to cry and a nurse nearby looks ready to pounce.

I pull him into me and hug him tight. We're both crying, and this is heartbreaking. I forget about my depression, about my own mom, about Allison for a second to hold this five-year-old little boy. He wants his sister back; the guilt must be killing him inside.

"Christopher, honey, it's time to go." A nurse comes over to us and taps him on the shoulder after about fifteen minutes of me holding him. He removes his head from my shoulder, and gets up. I wish I could hold him longer, I wish I could talk to him more, and become his friend. I brush some of his platinum blond hair back and stare into his blue eyes, and then he turns and leaves. I miss his warmth.

I stare at my empty arms for the rest of my time and cry. Nobody bothers me, Jen doesn't come over to talk to me, and no more sad little boys are here to be my friend. I remember my mission, get out of here, and find the care Stiles has to offer. Christopher wants to be cared for too, I gave him the care we both yearn for.

"Lydia." It's time for me to see the doctor. I have to wipe away my tears and act happy so I can leave. Maybe I could ask to leave and they'll let me. I ask to use the bathroom first; I want to clean my face first.

They tell me I have to stay until I'm fit to go back to the regular world. Even though I acted happy and talked and made myself act normal. They just said it was the medicine working, I still have to wait. I wanted to scream and cry and hit her and tell her I'm fine just so I can leave, but I'm not fine. I left with my head down, one more week.

I find Christopher in the mess hall across the room. He doesn't look at me; he keeps his eyes on his plate of food, nibbling slowly. A nurse is talking to him, but he's not even listening, focussing on his food, blocking out the world. He feels my stare and looks up; he looks at me for a minute and returns to his food. It was enough for me.


	12. Chapter 12

**A.N. **Last chapter! I know, very sad. Well, I would rather not ruin it by doing the romance part because frankly, I'm not good at anything not tissue-worthy, so yea... Maybe I'll do a short sequel, based in many years from now and this series i guess you could call it will be kind of set up like how VC Andrews does her series and I know it's backwards but this would be the last book...You'd understand if you read VC Andrews books, the only hint I'm giving, so, tell me what you think I guess, do you like the ending, or not?

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Throwing up is definitely not fun, like at all. The toilet has been my best friend for most of today, and the smell of vomit is making my eyes water. Finally a nurse comes into the bathroom, they've come in and out all day to make sure I'm fine, but this nurse has something.

"I want you to pee on this." She hands me a pregnancy test. I almost laugh, I'm not pregnant, and that's not even possible.

"I'm not pregnant." I throw up again before she can even think up a response. Why would they just assume I'm pregnant?

"We want to be sure, now pee on it, doctor's orders." Oh, that makes it so much more possible, just because the doctor said so. I'm not pregnant, and I'm not pissing on that stick.

"I'm not pregnant." maybe she didn't hear me the first time.

"Lydia, we just need to know, your anti-depressants may affect your child and we would need to change it to a safer medication until your baby is born." Wow, she's just assuming I am actually pregnant, like she knows for a fact. We're already talking about a baby that doesn't exist.

"No. I'm not pregnant, I know for a fact I'm not." Maybe she's def, there's a high possibility that she's def. I throw up again, what the hell is wrong with me?

"Lydia, when was your last period?" she asks. I could slap her right now. I'm not fucking pregnant, there's no way in hell I am, unless somehow months ago the condom broke with Jackson and his sperm decided to hang out for a few months before making me pregnant, which is not possible, therefore, I am not pregnant.

"It doesn't matter, because I'm not pregnant." She's really pissing me off. Do they do this with all the girls that start throwing up? Maybe I got food poisoning from their food or I have the flu.

"Then explain to me why you've been sleeping a lot lately, why you've been in here all day throwing up, and why you've been putting on a lot of weight lately?" Did she really just call me fat? All of what she's saying is true, but none of it is because of a pregnancy.

"I'm not pregnant bitch!" I almost yell it. Some other girls in the bathroom look over, my stall door is open, and the stupid nurse didn't close it. Jen is by the mirrors combing her hair, she doesn't look at me once, but I can tell she wants to. She'll start to turn, but change her mind, she's afraid I'll yell at her again.

"Then why are you so averse to taking this pregnancy test? If you're not pregnant then you'll have proof. We wouldn't want your medication to harm your child, I know it may be hard to accept the fact you're having a child at such a young age, but denial will only put you and your baby in harm's way in the end." I grind my teeth together. Oh my god, don't punch her in the face, throw up, don't hit her, and don't start screaming.

"Do I look pregnant to you?" I flatten my shirt on my stomach. No baby bump, a little fat from the weight I've gained, a bit of bloating, but no baby bump.

"You may not be that far along to where you're showing yet. Just pee on the stick and I'll leave you alone." I throw up in response. I was actually feeling a little better before she walked in here.

Jen finally turns around and looks at me. She must be waiting for my response, my real response. I stare into the toilet, but the sight has me puking up more. It burns so bad! My nose burns, my throat burns, my eyes burn, I don't feel good at all. I start to cry. The cherry on top of her accusation I bet, add mood swings to the list.

"Its okay honey, we're here for you, we want to make sure you give birth to a healthy baby, no need to cry." She rubs my hair and back with one hand and forces the test in my hand with her other one.

"You're pregnant?" Jen rushes over her fear of being yelled at gone for the moment. She kneels beside me and puts a hand on my arm. The nurse is on one side, Jen on the other, all squeezed into this bathroom stall with the door that's still open.

"No."

"Pee on the stick and we'll find out."

"No."

"Was that guy you were with yesterday the father?"

"No."

"Lydia, I'm not leaving until you take that test."

"No."

"What's the problem Lydia, why won't you take that test?"

"No."

"How are we going to know whether you're pregnant or not if you don't take this test?"

"No." I throw up again.

"Lydia, can I be the God Mom?"

"No."

"Lydia, take the test, please?"

"No."

"Lydia….Lydia…Lydia… test… why… Lydia…" Their voices blend together and I block most of what they're saying out. My nose is running from crying, my throat is burning, my stomach hurts, my ribs hurt. I drop the test on the ground and clutch my stomach, curling into my self. My legs are folded underneath me; my head is on my knees, my arms squeezed between.

Someone walks in the bathroom and I hear a gasp. Then someone else comes in. I look up, Stiles. He's in front of me, on his knees, hugging me. I've never felt safer in my life.

"Are you the father of her baby?" Jen taps him on the shoulder. He looks down at me strangely, the brown eyes confused, shocked, scared, caring.

"I'm not pregnant, I'm not!" He spots the blank pregnancy test next to me. He leaning over my legs to hug me is a bit awkward.

"I believe you." He whispers in my ear and I relax my whole body. Someone believes me, someone cares. I kiss him. He doesn't care about the puke and the snot and the tears, he kisses me back without hesitation. I sink into his body; he rubs my hair, holds me with one arm, and kisses me back like I've never been kissed before.

"I love you." I mean it, I really mean it. He takes some toilet paper and cleans my face off, then leans in and kisses me again. I hear a gasp, probably Jen, and I could care less about anything right now, except the feel of his lips on mine. It feels perfect, like our mouths are made for each others, and it's definitely not nothing.


	13. Prequel - Give Me Love

**AN: So I wrote this so long ago, but never posted it, so I guess you can call it a prequel. I'm not sure if I like it that much, but thankfully it doesn't have you in tears. (I recently went back and read this entire story and the entire time I was full blown crying and my desk was soaked with tears by the time I finished) Also, I'm working on a sequel, but I can't decide what I want to do, so if anyone has an idea of anything do not hesitate to tell me, I will be so so grateful and very happy. Also, maybe if you have a good title for a sequel that'd be nice to. Oh and if you like this, don't like this, have any opinions whatsoever, don't hesitate to review. **

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It seems as the days go on, the older we get, the more beautiful she gets. It's hard to tell though; she'd always been the most beautiful girl to me. I remember the day we met. Imagine, a third grade classroom, bright and colourful. An overly happy young woman wearing a bright yellow dress and her dark hair in a high pony-tail, the teacher, stands at the front of the class. It's the first day of school, the teacher who goes on to tell us her name is Ms. Joy, stands at the front of the class smiling as her new eight year old students walk in the class and find the desk their bright red name card is taped to. The desks are arranged in aisles but two desks pushed together to form little groups.

I arrive five minutes late because Mom wanted to make sure I looked my best, she'd even put me in a little suit and tie. I quickly find my seat and am dumbfounded by the beautiful girl sitting next to me. I haven't even seen her face yet but I see that she has long curly strawberry blonde hair that looked so soft and silky. At this moment I know she is going to be beautiful and soon enough a pair of large bright green eyes is staring back into my light brown ones. I suck in my breath; I knew she was going to beautiful but she's even more than I'd originally thought.

"What are you staring at?" she asks after a few moments. I'm still in shock from her beauty to say anything. My first ever crush, my only crush, my last crush, my first love, my only love, and my last love.

Weeks go on, I like her more and more. She acts like a bitch, she rules the classroom, and I'm her servant. Her smile, fake or not, brightens my day. The teacher loves her, everybody loves her, and she's the most popular girl. She acts ignorant, yet when it comes to group projects she does most if not all of the work. She raises her hand and never gets the answer wrong. In science we finish the lab before everybody else; in math she has her worksheet finished before the teacher even passes the sheet to all the other students. She uses words even the teacher hardly knows, she aces each and every test, gets a hundred on every single homework assignment.

She teaches me in a way the teacher couldn't even imagine. She helps me keep a stable grade. Yet, she doesn't like me. She doesn't talk to me at recess. She doesn't sit next to me a lunch time. She never chooses to pair up with me in gym. She only talks to me when she's re-teaching me the lesson. She only talks to me when we have an in-class project. She only talks to me about stuff that directly relates to the subject. She doesn't even say hi to me when her Mom comes to pick her up and I'm standing there waiting for my own Mom.

The school year ends and I think about her all summer, wondering if we'll sit next to each other in class next year. School starts and I nearly faint by how much more beautiful she's gotten. She's taller, she's beginning to look older, and she's starting to hit puberty. I get paired with her once again, our teacher this year even younger than the last, happier than the last if it's even possible. Once again she rules the classroom, she helps me in class, she's the teacher's pet, and she's got straight A's.

This year though, she says hi to me after school. She sits next to me a few times during lunch. She talks about her dog, she tells me how she's learning Latin, she tells me she has a crush on a boy but won't tell me who. The year goes on and we get even closer. She introduces me to her Mom, a beautiful woman who despite the large smile on her face, has her nose stuck in her cell-phone. My Mom talks to her Mom, they schedule a 'play-date'. I go to her house one Saturday and she shows me her dog, she shows me some of her Latin studies, I learn that she's teaching herself.

It becomes a regular thing, me going to her house, or her to mine. By the end of the school year we're best-friends. This summer, she comes to my house or I go to her house and we go swimming in her pool.

Mere weeks after I turn ten the next school year, Mom dies in a crash. At first she supports me, and then she gets further and further away until she nearly stops talking to me all together. Our new teacher has us seated on opposite sides of the classroom this year. She never even looks at me. My grades drop, a mixture of sadness of Mom's death and her not helping me anymore. I miss school and Dad doesn't care, he's to busy being depressed to notice. She finally shows up at my house one Saturday when I hadn't gone to school for an entire week.

She doesn't say sorry, she just hands me a packet of homework and leaves. She was the only one who knew my address. A while later I begin to go to school again, I hide my sadness and attempt to get my grade up. My new partner becomes my new best friend. I watch her when she's not looking. Oh how I long to talk to her again. I try and she ignores me. I cry at night, a mixture of Mom's death and her breaking our friend-ship. I'm only ten, we're only ten.

That was six years ago. She hasn't talked to me since; I have yet to figure out why. Now, now I'm sitting here in my desk in Chemistry staring at the back of her head. She's developed into the most beautiful woman that ever lived. My thoughts go places as she stands to do a problem on the board. I don't even know what we're learning, something about a mole? Something about the periodic table maybe? I'm too busy watching the way her body moves with every stroke of the white-board marker, watching the way her hand moves quickly as she writes out the problem. I don't realise I spaced out when the teacher calls my name for me to go up and do the next problem.

"What? Huh? The answer's four!" I exclaim startled. The class starts to giggle and I sit there confused. I glance at her and I almost groan she's even more beautiful when she laughs. Her entire face lights up and a dimple shows itself.

"Well Mr. Stilinkski, maybe if you weren't to busy daydreaming you'd be passing my class," the teacher says raising his brows. He gives me a look that tells me he knows exactly what I was looking at and thinking, because he was a teenage boy at one time too.

"You know… we all get lost in our thoughts at times… Some more than others, me more than maybe anybody…" I trail off; well at least I attempted to defend myself. But, I can probably day dream about her all day, no actually, I do think about her every second of the day. Not one thought I have excludes her. I'm not just obsessed with her either, I'm in love with her, so deep and hard there's no coming up for air, and that's what she said.

He sighs in defeat. "Get up here and do the problem boy," he says pointing to the board. I glance at the problem and groan, not these! How many particles of some element are in a certain number of moles? Damn, I hate these.

"I don't know how to do it," I complain walking up to the board. I make sure to pick up the same marker that the most beautiful strawberry blonde just used.

"Well then, the class will wait until you figure it out, no help," he says crossing his arms, leaning against his desk waiting patiently. Great, I'll be standing here all day with this stupid look on my face. She probably thinks I'm stupid, she probably doesn't like me. She's so smart, and in addition this is her favourite subject so I'm sure she's offended by my lack of knowledge on the subject.

"No help? Like, not even my notes? Not that they'll be much help anyways…" I say scratching the back of my neck. I'm so screwed, no wonder I'm passing with just a C, and that's only because I copy my best friend, Scott's homework. If only she still helped me with my school work then maybe my grade will be an A, but she doesn't talk to me anymore. She doesn't even look at me, and it hurts me deep inside because I just want to know why. Did I hurt her? Did she tire of my friendship? Was she so embarrassed to be my friend that she just stopped talking to me all together? Not only does it hurt because I love her so much and miss her company, but it hurts because we were so close and had a bond, or I thought we did, yet she so easily took a pair of kiddie scissors and cut it just like that.

"I'm surprised you have the time to take notes with all that daydreaming you do, but no, you may not use your notes, helpful or not. You could start with maybe looking at the problem," he says, fully prepared to embarrass me further. I can feel my face flush, and I'm a guy! My face isn't supposed to be red with embarrassment! I'm not supposed to blush! I quickly turn my back to the class and take the cap off the marker clicking it into the back. I poise my hand next to the problem and suck in a breath. You can do this, I tell myself, you can do this, you're going to do this, and you're going to show the love of your life that you know what you're doing, that you're smart, that you can get over any problem easily. I tell myself this with my eyes squeezed shut.

I take another breath and open my eyes. I focus my mind on the problem. I think back to what the teacher was saying yesterday while I was busy staring at her so deep in concentration as she made sure her notes are perfect. I think back to the joke one guy said about some number that we're supposed to use, he called it the avocado number because the name was so similar. I remember laughing, breaking my stare for a split second to tilt my head back to let loose.

I write what I think is what we're supposed to do, and then I write my answer. I feel confidant in my answer. I click the cap off the back and put it back on the top, lightly setting it back on the metal strip at the bottom of the whiteboard. "Did I do it right?" I ask turning to the teacher. His face looks grim so the confidence I had in my answer falters. I'm going to get it wrong; she's going to laugh at me. She's going to think I'm stupid. She's not going to remember to back when she helped me with all kinds of things and how good I did on tests and quizzes, she's only thinking about now and how I don't know anything about what the teacher is teaching.

The teacher sighs and walks over, picking up a different coloured dry-erase marker to probably redo my problem the correct way. I stay standing at the front of the class waiting. I can't see her and I'd love to see her face right now, is she looking at me? Is she giggling to her friends? Is she thinking bad things about me? I turn my eyes to the side as far as they'll go and I can barely see her out of the corner of my eye. She's leaned back in her seat watching the board a pen twirling around in her fingers. Quickly she changes this and starts to chew on the end of her pen. I almost groan with the way the tip of the pen slides between her glossy full lips with such ease and slowness. Then the slow movements of her jaw as she lightly bites it, she does it so slowly and with such gentleness as if she doesn't want there to be any bite marks. She looks bored. My eyes get tired and I realise that the teacher was telling me to get back in my seat and he's already re-did my problem and got a completely different answer.

"Sorry what?" I ask as he stands there, arms crossed, and a scowl on his face. Now she probably really thinks that I'm stupid.

"Seat, now. Your failed efforts were appreciated." He points to my seat and I comply, and then continue to stare at the back of her strawberry blonde head. She's so beautiful, how can someone so beautiful even exist? How did I get lucky enough to even know the most beautiful woman on earth?

The bell rings, and she begins to pack up her things. It's my chance to talk to her, she typically ignores me. "Hey, Lydia! Did you see me up there? I think I did pretty well for not paying attention!" I'm a fucking retard.

She snorts in the sexiest way possible and shakes her head. Her green eyes linger on me for about two seconds before she rolls her eyes. I'm leaning against the front of her desk, and as soon as she stands, I'm a goner. She stands; the desk flips forward and hits me in the face.

"Hey, what was that for?" I'm not mad at her, how can I? My nose is bleeding though, and she just walked out of the classroom. Of course she ignored me, she's the most popular girl in school, and I'm me.

"Give it a rest Stiles, she clearly doesn't like you dude." Scott puts a hand on my shoulder and laughs. I scowl and cover my bloody nose.

"Shut up." I storm out of the classroom like a pissed off girl and find the nearest bathroom to clean my nose. Immediately after I go to see if she's at her locker. I try to talk to her again.

"Hey! Ms. Martin! Have any fun plans for this weekend? Isn't Allison supposed to come back tomorrow?" I collapse against the locker next to hers, and very unsuccessfully might I add. I managed to get an eye roll for her, and bang my arm.

"Yes, she is supposed to be back tomorrow, and if I have any plans, they're for me to know about, not you." She slams her locker closed and turns on her heel. At least she talked to me.

"Oh, well, I don't have any plans… You know…I'll just be at home all weekend, playing videogames and sleeping. I bet you have plans though, since Allison is going to be back and all…" Maybe I should just shut up once in a while, it'd do me wonders.

"Actually, you know, I had plans, but playing videogames with you sounds so much better." She stops and turns, making me nearly run into her.

"Really? I have a lot of different games, whatever you like. I even have this one game that has Latin in it! I know you can speak Latin, I've actually been having some trouble on it because you know…I don't know any Latin, and maybe you could actually help…" This has to be the best day of my life.

"It was a joke Stiles; I have no intentions of being in your room, touching things you've touched." Well, at least she still remembers my name.

"Oh well…have fun." That was embarrassing. At least I'm not a girl, I'm sure I'd be in tears at this point, well, okay maybe I want to cry a little bit. Just a little bit though, and I wouldn't let anybody see, not even Scott.

I watch her disappear down the hall and for some reason I feel sad to see her walk away. It's just two days, I remind myself, I won't see her for two days, but it's not the end of the world. I'll see her on Monday, and she'll go back to ignoring me and I'll go back to embarrassing myself, and life will go on.

"Did she break your heart for the millionth time?" Scott comes up beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off, before it has a chance to get comfortable.

"No. She's never broken my heart, what are you talking about?" I turn to him, trying to hide emotions that only girls should feel. I shouldn't feel this pang in my heart, I shouldn't feel so sad or jealous, I should just shrug her off and move on to the next pretty girl that walks my way. Except, I don't feel like moving on.

"Right, keep telling yourself that." Scott walks away, and I am not so sad to see him go. Maybe I was going to invite him over for the weekend to be a loser and play videogames with me, but he has plans too, and plus, who said I wanted to see him this weekend. Damn it, I sound like a girl, a very jealous girl.

Why can't she just love me, can't she give me a little bit of love, just a little, so I don't have to feel so alone, so empty. I try to push these thoughts away as I walk out of the school and climb into my jeep. How I wish to taste her, to feel her plush lips, I bet she would taste sweeter than a strawberry.

I drive distracted by my thoughts, I drive home without paying attention, I just wish she'd love me back, I wish I could hold her and sooth her pain with just my touch. If I could wake up with her in my arms and not alone I'd be the happiest guy alive. I close my eyes at a red light and imagine waking up next to her and I relish in the image until a car honks behind me and I realise it's a green light now.

Maybe if I gave it time, it will happen eventually, she'll come to me, she'll need me, and I will do everything in my power to stay next to her for the rest of my life, and even afterwards if I can.

Eventually I make it home and in a daze I find my way in my front door and up the stairs, onto my bed where I can lay and think about her all weekend. My bed is a safe haven, where I can scream for her to give me love; no one will hear me calling out her name in my sleep, dreaming about her running from me.

I fall asleep and dream about her. This time she's not running from me but to me. She's calling my name and I call back. She collapses in my arms crying. I ask her why but when she opens her mouth to tell me it's muffled, I can only hear her screaming even though she's no longer screaming. I hear her yelling my name over and over, but it's all in my head, I can't hear her words through the screaming, and then it changes to other things. Other dreams float in and out of my head, but I know when I wake up, that's the one I'll remember.


End file.
